


For Every Evil

by A_Lonely_Soul (ImpendingExodus)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, Paralysis, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Romance, Sheith Big Bang 2017, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, veryyy slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpendingExodus/pseuds/A_Lonely_Soul
Summary: Between a crashed ship, attacks from alien dragons, and no hope of rescue any time soon, Keith and Shiro are stranded on a backwater planet. To make matters worse, Shiro falls victim to an illness that renders him incapable of moving or speaking. Trapped in close quarters, Keith has to somehow keep them both alive, wondering if this will be the day that their friendship breaks... or turns into something entirely new.





	1. For Every Evil

**Author's Note:**

> *sobs* It's finally done. I've been working on this fic for the Sheith Big Bang for about 4 months and it's really helped me through some tough times. Now I'm super excited to finally be able to share it!  
>   
> I was also lucky enough to get chosen by two wonderful artists, [Jingucci](http://www.jingucci.tumblr.com) and [Dogtron](http://www.dogtron.tumblr.com)! Go check out their stuff!  
> Art is linked in the relevant chapters (1 & 8).  
>   
> Enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art link [HERE](http://dogtron.tumblr.com/post/165003931060/wow-ok-so-here-is-my-piece-for-the-sheithbigbang) !!!

“Looks like the coolant system is on the fritz,” Shiro’s voice came tinnily through the helmet comm. “I’ll patch it up and pray it holds for the trip back.”

“Make sure you use plenty of duct tape this time,” Keith replied. He swatted at an overgrown mosquito headed for his neck, and barely grimaced at the splatter of purple fluids. His entire armor was already spotted with the stuff, a testament to how long he’d been wading through this jungle. Of _course_ the parts needed for the castle could only be found on some backwater planet out of an Amazon explorer’s nightmares.

“It may not be apparent, but I actually am a really competent mechanic.” Shiro’s grin could practically be heard.

“Yeah, yeah, you can regale me with tales of your Garrison days on the trip back.”

“You really need a reminder? You were there for most of my escapades!”

“Taking the blame for you, as I recall,” Keith answered, slapping at another insect intent on drinking his blood.

“But it never stopped you from hanging out with me.” Shiro’s voice held a note of fondness.

“Only because your company was marginally better than none at all.”

“Haha,” he shot back dryly. “Thank you for that boost to my self-esteem.”

Keith paused before replying as he glimpsed a dim blue glow among the tangled underbrush. His helmet’s readout indicated that it was the unpronounceable Altean plant they were looking for. Mature specimens were supposed to have a crystalline cellular structure that was a perfect match for the inner workings of the castle’s targeting system.

“I think I’ve found the goods,” Keith said, swinging the heavy collection bag from his shoulder. “I’ll gather as much as I can.”

“Great work!” Shiro’s voice was interrupted by bursts of static as Keith pressed deeper into the jungle. The trees were thick enough -- and also grown from crystal -- that they blocked radio signals intermittently. “Hopefully there’s enough where you are that I won’t have to look for more myself.”

“I knew it! You are totally just using me.” Keith feigned indignation. “Sending me out into the wild while you stayed next to the shuttle where it’s nice and safe.”

Shiro grunted. “Because piecing together alien tech from spare parts is _so easy_.”

“I’m just glad you were along when something went bad. I can’t say that I’d have had much luck on my own.”

“Let’s just hope the others are all right, and get back to them as soon as possible. Even with Lance and Pidge acting as decoys, I don’t want to waste time while the castle is down.”

Keith nodded to himself. After yet another run-in with a Galra fleet, the castle had been damaged; Pidge had rigged up a huge cloaking shield to hide the entire castle, but even so, it wasn’t completely safe. Plus, while Hunk was a mechanical genius, even he couldn’t repair the ship if he didn’t have the parts. Thus the mission Shiro and Keith were currently on. They had slipped past the local patrols by disguising themselves as small-time traders in a ratty shuttle they’d saved from a junkyard several lightyears back. Meanwhile Pidge and Lance had caused enough of a disturbance that the shuttle could land in the wasteland and hopefully find the materials they needed.

That had been a couple of hours ago (Keith refused to go through the mental hassle of converting Earth time to Altean units) and there hadn’t been a word from the other paladins since. Not that any was expected -- they needed to maintain radio silence to cover the tracks of both the shuttle and the castle. Still, it was a bit unsettling to be all alone with only Shiro’s distant voice for comfort. Keith couldn’t wait to collect the needed materials and head back.

There turned out to be a whole thicket of the glowing plants and Keith spent the next several minutes hacking at the nearest ones with his knife. The stalks were surprisingly tough, like everything on this planet seemed to be, and it took multiple attempts to cut each frond into pieces small enough to fit into the bag. Coran had said that they only needed a few plants to repair the weapons system, but Keith would rather get extras now and not have to come back to this miserable planet ever again.

The humidity was making him sweat and inside the armor his hair was tickling and sticking uncomfortably to his neck. Plus the bug goo smelled bad and smeared _everywhere_ , tinting whole swaths of his armor light lavender. Yep, definitely not going to miss this place when he left.

“Hey, Shiro? I’m heading back now.” Keith heard the comm unit click several times but there was only static. Typical. The plants were blocking the signal worse than before.

Keith turned around and retreated the way he had come, following the path he’d hacked with his bayard and knife. As he went, he swore that some of the plants had already regrown from where they were cut off, sending thin tendrils looping across his path. At least none of the plants had shown carnivorous tendencies (so far) and wildlife had been nonexistent, so the only real danger was tripping and killing himself on his own knife. With that thought in mind he sheathed the dagger -- he didn’t trust irony one bit -- and focused on the ground in front of him.

Eventually he emerged from the eaves of the jungle and blinked in the bright rays of the noontime sun. It had still been noon when they’d arrived a while ago, the double suns beating down mercilessly on the landscape. The longer days encouraged the plant life to grow to extreme proportions as evident in the jungle, where the crystal-skinned trees were a hundreds of feet tall and the vines seemed to have a life of their own. It would be a xenobotanist’s dream, Shiro had mentioned in the descent to the surface, but Keith was no scientist and he only saw the annoyances such an environment caused.

Oh well, no sense complaining. They were done here anyway and soon enough he’d be able to go take a shower and sleep for a week back on the castle. That sounded nice.

“Ready to clear out of here?” he radioed, picking up the pace now that there was grey-blue grass underfoot instead of treacherous vines. The shuttle was visible on a gentle grassy hill about a half mile away.

No reply.

“Very funny, Shiro. I know you can hear me.” He paused. “I swear I’m not in the mood for pranks right now. I’m exhausted.” More silence and the faint crackle of static. “Dammit, we’ve got a mission to do. The castle’s a sitting duck. Come pick me up and let’s go!”

Keith clenched his fist over the shoulder strap of the bag. Surely radio reception couldn’t be _that_ bad? They’d been talking just a few minutes ago! And now that he was out of the forest, there wasn’t anything to block the signal.

It’s okay, Keith told himself as he lengthened his stride into a quick trot. It’s just some random equipment failure. Crap like this happens all the time.

That didn’t mean that he stopped trying to reach him on the comm. “Shiro! Can you hear me? _Shiro!_ ”

He considered dropping the bag and running faster, but the rational part of him kept reassuring that everything was fine and there was no reason to throw away the whole mission just yet. Still, he couldn’t help thinking of the last time Shiro and he had been trapped alone on a planet, with their lions down and the vicious wildlife attacking. Shiro had pulled through that one just fine, so there was no need to worry. The only sentient life on this planet stayed in their primitive medieval cities -- far from where the shuttle had landed -- and there was no sign of Galra.

Still, the shuttle sitting so serenely on its little hilltop was vaguely disturbing, a picture of solitude where there should have been _some_ movement.

Keith radioed again with the same result as before.

Dammit dammit _dammit_.

Heart over head.

He tightened the straps against his armor, making sure the bag wouldn’t go anywhere, and took off at a dead run.

\--

As much as Keith wanted himself to be wrong, he had to realize the worst as he rounded the end of the shuttle and caught sight of a battleground. The ground was torn up, two deep parallel grooves cut into the earth, exposing the dark soil under the mat of grass. Tools were scattered around where Shiro had been working on the engines; some had been kicked or thrown yards away. All were in a state of disorganization that spoke to a problem more immediate than ship repair.

Keith clicked on his helmet comm one more time. “Shiro?” His voice was tiny, not even echoed by the static. Up here on the open hilltop, there was nothing to cause interference or background noise. The silence was deafening.

Dumping the collection bag on the ground, Keith raced to the side door even though he already knew he would find the ship empty. The interior, lit by sunlight streaming through the windshield, faced him blankly. His heart skipped another beat and sped up double-time. Keith flung himself back outside, stumbling momentarily at the dropoff from the shuttle to the ground, and ran around to the front. There was no sign of Shiro there, either.

Only the marks near the engines gave clues as to what had happened. Keith returned there and crashed to his knees amidst the churned earth and scattered tools. _Something_ had happened, _something_ in the brief moments of static in their conversation. Frantically he wracked his brain, replaying their last words together, searching for any kind of hint.

Nothing. His mind refused to function past the overwhelming thought that Shiro was gone.

“How many times does this have to happen?” he screamed to the sky, letting the words tear his throat raw. He stared up into the hazy blueness, the metrics of his helmet sliding and scanning but finding nothing to lock on to.

_Patience yields focus. Patience --_

He didn’t have _time_ for patience! He needed answers!

His helmet gave a small chirp and a reticle flashed over his left eye. A tracking device? The arrow pointed out toward the horizon; underneath was a distance indicator in unreadable Altean. But the symbol glowing steady blue was recognizable, upliftingly so. It was the same as the sigil emblazoned on Black’s chestplate, the same one that was used to mark Black -- and her paladin -- on all the battle maps.

Keith surged to his feet with a shout of Shiro’s name. At least now he had a plan of action!

It would be too hard to pilot the shuttle and keep an eye on Shiro’s location at the same time, so with a muttered wish Keith hoped that Shiro was within walking distance. There weren’t many things that could have taken him out of reach -- Galra, maybe bounty hunters -- and Keith refused to consider that any of those options was the answer. It was just a question of what that left. Natives? Animals? Shiro hadn’t left of his own volition so it was best to assume that there was danger involved. And something that could take down the Black Paladin without any warning...

Keith’s bayard crystallized out of thin air, held tightly in his fist. Whatever it was, he’d just have to go through it to get to Shiro. And go _through_ it he would, leaving a ragged bloody hole if he had to.

Tossing the plant collection into the shuttle and taking a split second to make sure the door was securely locked, he took off in the direction indicated by his helmet.

\--

It was a steep climb into the rocky hills surrounding the landing site. The little blue indicator led Keith on, a steady beacon of hope as he became more and more exhausted and disheartened. There was still no word from Shiro, although it had very quickly become a habit to check the radio every few minutes.

Groaning, Keith looked up at the sky where the double suns had barely moved from their noontime positions. The planet was too hot and muggy for trekking around like this, and while the paladin suits protected them from the freezing void of space, they weren’t so good at dealing with hot environments. Not to mention the fact that Keith’s body was working overtime, running on adrenaline, as every noise and flitter of movement in the corner of his vision set him on edge, Shiro’s name choking his raw throat.

The Altean numerals were clearly counting down; they’d gone from four digits down to three, but Keith still didn’t know exactly what that meant. Miles? Feet? Close enough that he ought to see Shiro by now but there was no trace anywhere? All he could do was keep following the arrow, keep a firm hold on his bayard, and hope.

The landscape had changed swiftly with the elevation, the dense jungle vegetation and mats of grass turning to plain dusty-brown rock and the occasional scrubby bush. Little creatures that looked similar to lizards scattered at Keith’s footsteps, flicking purple tongues at him through slitted fangs. He gave them no heed, thankful that at least the biting insects hadn’t followed him out of the jungle.

There was some sort of trail winding up the side of the craggy hill -- unless, Keith realized, it was just his imagination trying to find a pattern where there wasn’t one. Because a trail would mean people, and that would mean there was a _reason_ for Shiro to be missing, and there would be something to fight and kill if need be. Keith quickened his steps, boots sliding on the loose gravel and scree of the slope as he made his way up. It wasn’t that far to the top of the hill, and at the very least he should be able to see Shiro from there.

As the distance counter dropped to the double digits, Keith crested the plateau, panting, and stopped at the edge to get a better view of the horizon. But what caught his attention sooner was the way the ground underfoot sloped inward, the entire top of the hill shaped like a funnel, down to a roughly circular opening at the center. He stepped forward, testing the surface with his weight, and it held.

Judging from the vague spherical shape of the outcropping, this hill was probably formed from a solidified lava bubble in whatever tectonic activity had created this whole ridge. That meant that it was most likely hollow on the inside, and -- Keith glanced at his helmet’s HUD for assurance -- Shiro was inside it.

The rock was striated and pockmarked, supporting Keith’s idea that it had been created by lava. That meant that it would be lightweight enough to support its arched structure, while still being sturdy and rigid. As he made his way gingerly toward the central opening, he had to revise upward his initial estimation of the size -- what had at first looked like a manhole cover was actually fifteen, twenty feet across now that he was closer to it.

Moving slowly came naturally on the uneven footing, and with it came stealth. It was easy to place his boots only on rock, being careful not to dislodge any smaller pieces. He would be at a definite advantage in an ambush, dropping from above if there were any enemies to fight. But the lack of guards nagged at him: either they were cocky, or Shiro had somehow escaped from them, or it was a trap. And no way for Keith to tell, really, until he was all in.

He got on hands and knees as he approached the lip of the opening, crouching to lower his center of balance and to limit his silhouette against the sky. If the enemy had guns, he didn’t want to make himself an easy target.

At last he was close enough to see down into the chamber -- hollow, like he’d guessed. There was a circle of light directly below the opening and jagged humps and spires of rock littered the floor that faded into shadow out toward the walls. Keith’s helmet gave a little chirp and the reticle zipped to the far right of his visor, locking onto Shiro’s position. Squinting against the dark contrast, he was just able to make out white bits of armor in the shape of a person. Shiro wasn’t moving and the blue running lights on his suit were dim. Not good.

Keith dragged his focus away to look around the rest of the cavern and assess the situation. There weren’t any other life forms immediately apparent. While there were several large boulders that could have provided cover, Keith’s patience was running thin and after five minutes of bone-aching stillness, he couldn’t make himself wait any longer.

At first his plan had been to jump down, bayard ready, and use his jetpack to break the fall. But if Shiro was unconscious or injured or _something_ , he needed an alternative. There were several thin slants of light visible in the shadows around the perimeter, indicating gaps in the rock wall. Keith couldn’t tell the width of them, but if worst came to worst he could cut a way out. At least it would be easier than trying to jetlift both of them up and out.

He leaned back and summoned his bayard, the handle of it warm against his glove. With a flash it extended out into its bladed form, the tip of it hovering over the opening like a serpent’s tongue. Keith hesitated for one last moment, breathlessly waiting for some sign of life. When there was none, not even a twitch of movement from Shiro, he jumped.

The blast of the jetpack was loud in the pervasive stillness of the cave, the sound echoing off the walls and ringing in his ears. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Keith spun in a tight circle, bayard poised and body braced for attack. But nothing came except for a low rumbling noise, a rattling groan as of earth shifting, then silence. Deactivating his sword, Keith raced in Shiro’s direction. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the shadows, he could tell that things were worse than he’d thought -- Shiro lay on his left side, one arm outflung and the other twisted under and behind him, his legs splayed like a ragdoll that a child had thrown down in a tantrum. Shiro’s helmet was off, lying several feet away, giving Keith a view of the side of his face matted with blood.

Keith had only sprinted a couple of strides forward when a ground-shaking roar split the cavern. Something swooped in his peripheral vision and there was barely time to activate the jetpack for a vertical boost before sickle-shaped claws, each as long as his arm, tore through the space below him. A solid weight buffeted him out of the air and he slammed into the cave wall before he could correct his trajectory.

Sword crystalizing back into existence, Keith dug in his heels and turned to face his attacker.

His first thought was _a dragon!_ but then he was dodging another flurry of wings that smashed chunks out of the wall where he’d been standing. Whatever the creature was, it was huge, wingspan easily bigger than the central opening, with an armored head and long snakelike neck. Its pale sandy color made it a blur of movement as it scuffled in and out of the pool of sunlight.

It lunged at him again and Keith ducked forward, under its serrated jaw and toward the softer-looking skin of its abdomen. He swung his sword around, hoping to hit something vital, when its tail lashed out and he had to turn his charge into a roll to avoid tripping. Darting out under the creature’s wing, Keith had time for two good cuts to its flank before it turned around again in a flurry of wings and rage. This time the tail came arching up over its shoulder like a scorpion’s, and Keith had a momentary glimpse of a bright blue bulb near the tip, and a sharp stinger.

Keith waited for the creature to make the next move; it pulled back, hissing harshly, glittering eyes locked onto him and tail poised like a sniper’s rifle. Keith’s eyes were drawn back to that flash of blue; he knew poison when he saw it. Rattlesnakes, scorpions, spiders. Some could kill a person in minutes, while others took days of agony as the venom ran through the bloodstream. He thought again of Shiro lying somewhere behind him, unnaturally still and crumpled.

The tail darted forward while the creature’s head whipped to the side in a wide arc, intending to attack its target from two directions. Keith didn’t wait for its attacks to connect, instead leaping toward the head and and using his momentum to aim a blow at the seam between two heavily-armored scales. The blade struck deep and the monster reeled away, screaming, jerking the weapon from Keith’s hands and flinging it against the wall.

Drawing his dagger, Keith backed out of range of the wildly lashing tail, but the creature wasn’t eager to continue the fight. Still screeching, it shook its head, using the clawed point of its wing to paw at the gash where dark blood was bubbling out. Keith took the opportunity to dart for his bayard and then sidle along the cave wall until he was squarely in front of Shiro, shielding the other paladin with his own body as best he could. Keith’s grip on his weapons was sweaty even through his gloves.

But the winged creature had had enough of the fight, and with a final hiss like wind over dunes, it canted its wings and hopped up to perch on the rim of the opening, then it flew away out of sight and left the cavern silent once more.

Keith took a moment to let his knees shake and his hands go loose until the blades started to slip from his grasp. This wasn’t the time for rest. He glanced around the space again, taking note of the gaps in the walls, most of them easily doorway-sized. At least getting out wouldn’t be a problem. More pressing -- despite his mind’s growing panic of _ShiroShiroShiro_ \-- was where had the creature come from? It couldn’t very well have dropped in from above, he would have noticed it for sure...

His head whipped around to stare at one of the large boulders that he had noticed and dismissed earlier. Something hadn’t been hiding behind the rock, it had been camouflaged _as_ the rock. But an overly-cautious look at the remaining dirt-gray lumps revealed them to be actual boulders, and Keith breathed a sigh of relief.

Turning back to Shiro, all the adrenaline from the battle faded abruptly away and left only a hollow, sinking feeling. The older paladin still hadn’t moved, face too-pale under all the blood. Keith stumbled to his side by sheer will alone, limbs shaking too badly to hold himself up as he collapsed to his knees.

“Shiro?” His voice was tiny, a thin breath of hope that quavered on the air.

So terrified to shatter this schrodinger’s moment, Keith reached out and laid his fingertips on the sharp edge of Shiro’s jaw. Warm. At least that was something. He shifted so his palm was in contact with skin, then stopped and pulled off his glove so he could feel. Blood was dried and crusty under his fingers and his eyes traced up to a gash in Shiro’s scalp, above his ear. It looked ugly but superficial; shouldn’t be too hard to patch up.

Keith moved his fingers again, biting his tongue as he couldn’t find Shiro’s pulse point. Where, where -- there. A steady beat thudded dully against his index finger. Letting his knees go out from under him entirely, Keith sank to the ground and almost collapsed on top of Shiro. A sob bubbled in his throat, choking him with relief and the release of incredible tension.

“Shiro,” he called again, voice stronger than before. He rolled Shiro onto his back, mindful of his twisted left arm and his bruised face. The shoulder was almost certainly dislocated but Keith didn’t want to try pushing it back into place -- while he knew how, from Garrison first-aid classes, he didn’t want Shiro to wake up to excruciating pain. Better to do it when he was awake.

Even through the shuffling around of trying to get him laid out, Shiro didn’t stir. Keith straightened his legs and crossed his arms lightly over his stomach, then went back and pushed the prosthetic to lie on the ground. With his hands on his abdomen, Shiro looked too much like a corpse laid out for burial.

Keith’s hand returned to rest on Shiro’s chestplate where the flexible material rose and fell minutely with every breath. He needed the reassurance that Shiro was still alive; the underground atmosphere and encroaching shadows gave the stifling impression of a tomb.

“C’mon, Shiro. Wake up. I need to fix your shoulder so we can get out of here and back to the shuttle. I can’t carry you like this.” Well, he probably could -- all that strength training would pay off -- but he didn’t want to think about that possibility. The chance that Shiro might not wake up and Keith would be left to haul his limp body down the hillside and back to the empty shuttle. Keith shuddered. “Come on, I don’t want to be alone.”

This was supposed to be a stupid, simple mission, damn it! His hand on Shiro’s chest clenched into a fist and he fought back the urge to break down again. It was easiest to blame the stinging in his eyes on frustration and exhaustion and move on, but part of his brain insisted on nagging _Shiro got hurt on your watch. This is all your fault. Always._

His face compressing into a grimace, Keith bit his lip and turned to look at Shiro’s face again. Maybe he ought to wake him...

Shiro’s eyes were open, cloudy and unfocused in the dim light.

“Welcome back!” Keith said, half laughing, half choked, and patted Shiro’s good shoulder. He wanted to say _I was getting worried_ but that was silly, Shiro already knew that and they both would deny it anyway.

But the seconds ticked by and there was no answering “good to be back”. Keith felt the coldness take up residence in his gut again as he leaned forward, casting a shadow over the other man’s face. “Shiro?”

Shiro’s eyelids fluttered, eyes rolled until the irises were almost hidden.

An image of the bright blue stinger crossed Keith’s mind and his whole body went tense.

Poison.

Oh no.


	2. Under the Sun

Counting the time between breaths had never seemed so long. But now, as Keith’s hand rested on Shiro’s chest so he could feel the tremulous rise of every inhale, it seemed a lifetime until the accompanying exhale, proving again and again that he was still alive.

Keith had retrieved Shiro’s helmet and was currently holding it in his lap with his free hand, thumb rubbing absently over the scratches and dirt marring its surface. Maybe it would be good to put the helmet on Shiro, give him extra oxygen in case he needed it? But Keith was loath to obscure the other paladin’s face -- it was unsettling, watching his eyes roll behind half-closed lids, features blank and unfamiliar, but it would be even worse to _not_ be able to see those subtle signs of life.

The edges of the armor on his thighs was starting to bite into Keith’s skin, even through the thick undersuit, where he was sitting with his legs folded under him. How long had it been? He’d lost count of the number of breaths and only took note that each one seemed a bit easier than the last. Glancing up, he realized that Shiro’s eyes had fallen all the way shut, although there were still muscle twitches firing randomly across his face. Keith swallowed, glad that that unseeing gaze was off of him, and then immediately felt guilty for the thought.

He lifted his hand from the other paladin’s chest and hovered his fingertips above Shiro’s mouth, not touching but close enough to feel the warm air between his parted lips. At least Shiro’s breathing was steady and unobstructed, which allayed some of Keith’s fears about the effects of the poison. Whatever it was doing, it didn’t seem to be immediately life-threatening. There would be plenty of time to get Shiro back to the shuttle and find the antidote kit -- assuming there was one. Keith remembered seeing a compartment that he _thought_ was first aid, but as with all alien stuff, it was hard to tell for sure. Plus if that part of the shuttle was stocked as shoddily as the rest, the cabinet might well be empty.

But that was a long way off; right now he needed to figure out how in hell he was going to carry Shiro -- injured and deadweight -- down the rocky hillside and across the intervening mile of open grassland back to the shuttle. Keith glanced over his shoulder anxiously at the circle of sky. If the creature attacked at any point during that journey, he might not be able to fight it off.

That was how he imagined it must have been for Shiro -- the creature came down out of the blue and acted fast enough, stung him and then carried him off before he even had a chance to call for help. And while Keith could fight it in the confines of the cave, he didn’t want to risk facing it when it had full use of its wings.

So the only option left was to stay here until Shiro was recovered enough to walk and then they could head out, keeping to shelter and having two pairs of eyes on the sky at all times.

... Assuming Shiro would be _able_ to walk. Keith looked back at his face and he still appeared asleep. _Or unconscious_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully, and he clenched his fingers on his leg so tightly the armor creaked in protest.

There was really nothing to do but wait. There was the option of leaving Shiro and making a run for the shuttle to bring it closer, but he couldn’t leave the other paladin alone. Not now, unknowing what the full effects of the poison were. Not letting Shiro wake up alone in a monster’s den.

For lack of anything better, Keith skimmed his fingers over the gouges on Shiro’s chestpiece. None of them were anywhere near deep enough to have reached skin; the majority of them were old, relics of the fights against Sendak and Haggar and whatever battles the previous owner might have fought through. Although the armor had been carefully sanded and repainted, looking like new from a distance, up close it was easy to feel all the small imperfections like invisible cracks in a glass.

Keith’s touch moved to Shiro’s right shoulder, grazing over the scuffed pauldron. He ought to check for other injuries less apparent than the scalp wound and dislocated shoulder. That way he could have a ready catalogue of injuries needing treatment when they got back to the shuttle.

Checking one more time to see if Shiro was conscious yet, Keith set about looking him over for injuries. It was probably far too late, now that he thought about it, but he needed to find where the creature had stung Shiro. The location of the sting might give some clue as to the nature and duration of the venom -- if it was injected into a main vein, then it might be fast-acting and more likely to clear out of the body faster. Keith could only hope.

The twin suns had just reached the edge of the circular entrance, casting the far side of the chamber into deeper shadows. At least they weren’t beating down mercilessly from straight above any more. Keith tried to gauge the time -- it had been two, three hours since his last conversation with Shiro? There was still plenty of daylight left, plenty of time to get safely back to the shuttle and raise the shields against whatever nocturnal terrors might reside on this planet. They wouldn’t be able to leave until the engines were fixed, which irked Keith and made him feel like there was a timer on his actions and he was running far behind schedule.

With an increased sense of urgency, Keith returned his focus to Shiro, raising his arms to feel for cracks in the armor, looking over his abdomen and legs critically. There was a lot of wear and tear, and likely bruises and scraped flesh underneath, but nothing was bleeding out or obviously broken. That only left Shiro’s back and Keith hesitated about rolling him over, wary of internal injuries.

He glanced back at Shiro’s face, at the dried lines of blood that radiated outward from the side of his head, and wished he had water and bandages with him. Maybe it was just the heavy contrast making Shiro’s skin look so pale, but regardless Keith didn’t like it as a reminder that he’d failed to be there when Shiro needed him. _Always, again and again._

His gaze dropped from the paladin’s face to his neck, where the dark line of his suit ended a few inches below his jawline. There was more blood there, a thin red cut about an inch long that looked like it could have been made by a small knife... or a flat, bladed stinger. Keith’s concentration focused on that, eyes and fingers measuring the distance to the faintly visible pulse.

The cut looked shallow and the lack of continual bleeding indicated that the wound was probably only into the muscle tissue and not the vital arteries. But that also meant that the venom was potent, able to incapacitate a man quickly even without reaching the direct bloodstream. It would take much longer to dissipate that way and the side effects could show up for days.

On impulse Keith crouched over and lowered his mouth to the wound. The blood was tacky and stuck to his lips as he sucked hard. There was no way this could help; the poison was long since working its way through Shiro’s body, but it felt better to try than to do nothing. Even if it was too little too late, maybe he could silence his treacherous thoughts by saying that at least he _tried._

A little fluid, warm and sour, touched his tongue and Keith forced down his sudden nausea. Pulling away, he spat hard and tried not to think about the lingering taste in his mouth. Too late the thought occurred to him that he might inadvertently have just poisoned himself, but a few breathless moments later showed no ill effects.

Shiro’s wound was bleeding a bit more freely now, a trickle of red that trailed around the back of his neck and with slow drips speckled the rock he was resting on. Movement caught Keith’s eye and he raised his gaze to see Shiro’s lips moving faintly. More muscle spasms? He made eye contact, preparing himself for the sightless stare, but instead Shiro was looking back at him. Keith waited a moment, refusing to give himself false hope that this was more than coincidence, but the longer he held the gaze the more awkward it got, Shiro’s eyes tracking back and forth across his face as his lips repeatedly twitched and compressed and no sound came out.

“I... guess you’re awake now?” Keith asked quietly. The words sounded so wrong in the cave, muffled and bent back on themselves. It was better than wondering how long Shiro had been awake, if he was aware of what Keith was doing, sucking on his neck. The urge to laugh bubbled up hysterically. Wouldn’t _that_ just be great, now Shiro might think he was an utter creep.

When there was no answer, Keith caught Shiro’s eyes again and searched for some sign of recognition. Shiro looked back, brow furrowed, and his breathing picked up exponentially.

“Shiro?” Keith’s mind refused to supply him with anything useful, only spinning helplessly in rising confusion. Of course the venom would have some lingering effects, but what was going on -- Shiro was awake, it should be wearing off now!

He placed his hand flat on Shiro’s chest again. It wouldn’t do to have both of them panicking. Keith could be strong, he had to be. “Breathe deeper,” he said, aware as he spoke how stupid and useless his words were. _Of course_ Shiro would know how to fight a panic attack. “I chased the creature off so we’re safe for now. Take your time. It might be a while before the poison wears off.” Easy words to say, harder to make himself believe. From Shiro’s darting eye movement, it seemed he didn’t believe it either.

“Okay.” Keith inhaled slowly. “We can deal with this, right?” Every time he spoke, Shiro’s attention returned from flitting around the cave to lock eyes with Keith, so at least he had some level of cognition. That was a start. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Or show me?”

Shiro’s eyebrows drew down and Keith waited for a response that never came. Was Shiro deaf now? His own eyes widened at the thought; he had no idea how to communicate with his hands and he didn’t know if Shiro did, either. How would they be able to function like that? Keith’s heart was pounding in his ears and he looked at the other man again, suddenly close to tears. He couldn’t live with that reality, he couldn’t live with not hearing Shiro’s voice again.

At some point lost in his thoughts, his mind registered that Shiro was looking at him intently and blinking in a pattern: two blinks, pause, two more. Keith stared back uncomprehending for long enough to make himself feel like a fool when he finally figured it out.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no?”

Shiro blinked once.

Okay. Getting somewhere. “So I guess you can hear me?”

Another single blink.

“But you can’t speak or move?”

Shiro looked thoughtful, narrowing his eyes but not blinking entirely.

“Okay, too complicated. Sorry. Can you speak? ... Move?”

No on both counts.

Keith sat back, shoulders slumping, and tried to think of all the poisonous creatures that he’d encountered or heard of. Most venoms included paralysis as a side effect, shutting down the nerves that controlled the respiratory system so the victims suffocated. But as his hand still rose and fell on Shiro’s chest, clearly that wasn’t the case.

“It’s okay. Or, it _will_ be okay.” He needed to say something to fill up the void. Even if Shiro could hear the shaking in his voice, it was better than the dead silence and his was the only voice that could speak.

Shiro blinked twice and Keith couldn’t tell if it was negation or reflex, as he broke eye contact and looked away.

“We just need to get you back to the shuttle. There’s a first aid kit with antidotes that’ll fix you right up. No big deal.” His use of the plural _we_ was stupid -- there was no _we_ needing to get back to the shuttle, it was all on Keith’s shoulders. Everything was hinged on, weighed on, one person.

Pulling his gloves back on, Keith shifted into a crouch. “Your shoulder looks bad but if you can’t feel it, I think I can get it back into joint. Then I’ll carry you out of here. Sound good?”

But Shiro’s gaze was far away again, wandering over the encroaching shadows of the cavern, and Keith realized that if he was going to get anything done, he would have to take full initiative himself. He leaned his head back into Shiro’s line of sight, temporarily drawing his attention. “I’m going to take off some of your armor and fix your shoulder. Is that okay?”

Shiro blinked once and Keith could feel his troubled gaze lingering on his face as he set to work opening the hidden seals on the armor and undersuit. As he peeled back the dark fabric, he realized the bruising was more extensive than he’d thought and the jut of displaced bone was clearly visible.

“Probably a good thing you can’t feel this,” Keith said to keep the atmosphere light, then realized how dark that probably sounded. Mouth compressing into a frown, he ducked his head and kept his eyes on his work, easing the fabric away from the area so he could see what he was up against. Sure, Shiro had a pretty morbid sense of humor, but Keith refused to play along with it. Not now when the situation was too immediate.

Keith prodded carefully along the side of the shoulder, feeling where the rounded end of the humerus had popped forward out of its socket. Without Shiro being able to respond to pain, it was hard to tell if there was any additional injury or torn muscles, but Keith hoped that it was a simple dislocation. He shuffled back a couple of feet and laid Shiro’s left arm outflung from his body. Keith sat facing him and braced a foot against the chestpiece, gripping Shiro’s elbow with both hands.

“Here goes,” he muttered; even if Shiro couldn’t feel it, he had a right to know what was happening to his body.

The other paladin took a deep breath and shut his eyes on instinct, then Keith leaned his weight back and pulled. It was a terrible, grinding moment later that the bone started to move. Keith could feel it scraping against the socket and tried not to think about what he was actually doing -- all he had to do was concentrate on Shiro’s arm in his grip, and keep pulling slow and steady. With an almost-audible pop, the joint fell back into place and Keith released his sweaty palms.

“Glad that’s over. Although really, you should be the one saying that.” He tried to smile but Shiro’s eyes were back to focusing blankly on the rocky ceiling above him. “All right then, let me put your armor back on and we can see about getting out of here.”

Keith paused a moment, watching for eye movement from Shiro to signal approval or awareness, but there was nothing. Bowing his head, he reached for the zipper and slowly worked it back up the seam, sealing away the bruised flesh from sight. The pauldron would protect the shoulder from any incidental damage on their journey back to the shuttle, but as soon as possible it would need real treatment: ice, a sling, possibly a bandage to immobilize the joint while it healed. Keith could rig up something that would work but it would be a far cry from what a doctor could provide. All the more reason to get to the shuttle and get it operational, so they could return to the castle and let the healing pods work their magic.

By the time Keith had finished settling the armor back into place, Shiro’s breathing had accelerated again to near-hyperventilation. Keith tried talking to him as he worked, commenting on the stiffness of the armor straps, on how there was going to be so much polishing and buffing to be done when they returned, on how that stupid poison dragon had had the gall to disguise itself as a giant rock.

Shiro made eye contact a couple of times but it was fleeting, like he was grasping at something tenuous that always slipped away, dragging his wandering attention off with it. His eyes roved the darkness as his mouth moved minutely again and again. Twice Keith paused in his work to make out any words, but only rapid breaths passed Shiro’s lips.

“Can you look at me?” Keith shifted so he was sitting more upright, tall enough that Shiro could roll his eyes to the side and see him. Shiro blinked twice and maybe it was Keith’s imagination, but he thought the older man’s breath hitched and slowed just a bit.

“I need you to focus for a moment. I know it’s gotta be scary for you --” _scary_ didn’t even start to cover it, not for Shiro and not for Keith’s current continual panic “-- but there’s nothing to worry about. We’ll get you the antidote and you’ll be good as new.” He fought the nervous urge to glance back at the cave’s opening above and behind him. For now it was far more important to hold that warm gray stare and do everything he could to convince both of them that this was for the best.

“Thing is, I’ve got to go get the shuttle. I can’t carry you all the way there and it would be safer if --” He stopped as Shiro blinked rapidly and his respiration picked back up.

“Okay, okay, never mind.” Keith leaned forward and rested the back of his fingers against Shiro’s cheek, hoping that the physical contact would help calm him down. Instead it seemed to exaggerate Shiro’s quick exhales, the air panting humid over his wrist.

Keith closed his eyes and fervently wished that he had the same kind of bond with the paladins that he did with his lion. If only he could give Shiro a glimpse of the pulsing red that sometimes flared beneath his eyelids, the sense of home and comfort and a job well done. Red always knew what to do, whether it was to goad Keith’s own fire into a frenzy or stoke the embers for another day. Maybe Black did the same thing for Shiro, but Black was too far away now to be any help.

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make this better,” Keith said slowly, still not opening his eyes. “I wish I could sugarcoat it but I can’t. You need to see the situation and understand that I have to do this.”

He opened his eyes in increments, looking up from under his brows like a child fearing punishment. But although Shiro’s features were drawn into a deep frown, he met Keith’s gaze and deliberately blinked once.

“Right. This sucks, but hey. You’re in the den of the planet’s top predator, or something of the sort. It’s not like any other animals are going to come in here, right?” He tried a weak laugh but honestly now that he thought of it that way, it only made the situation seem even more desperate. “I’ll be back fast as I can. If the creature is still hanging around, then I’ll kill it for sure this time. You’ll be fine.”

_Sham. Admit it, you’re just as abjectly terrified as he is._

Keith swallowed heavily and got to his feet, scouting the immediate area of the cave. There was a large oblong boulder several yards up from Shiro, and a quick trot around it revealed that there was a narrow passage between it and the wall. Wide enough for a person -- as long as they weren’t claustrophobic -- but hopefully too small for the creature’s body.

He came back and knelt again by Shiro’s head; this time, touching his face to get his attention came a bit more naturally. “I’m going to hide you behind a rock so nothing can get to you, then I’m going to to haul ass to the shuttle. It’ll take me maybe...” Twenty minutes to safely get out of the rocky landscape and across the plains, all while keeping an eye on the sky. Plus however long to get the half-repaired engines back in serviceable shape, then fly back to the cave and find a level area to land. “Give me forty minutes. I’ll try to be back before then but give me some slack, y’know? I’m not as good a pilot as you.” Once again, his humor fell flat with neither of them in the mood for laughing.

Shiro’s mouth turned up at one corner, probably more muscle twitch than smile. Keith decided to interpret it as encouragement. Taking the black helmet, he supported Shiro’s neck as he slid it on, the tint of the visor enough to hide the alertness in his eyes.

“You still can’t feel your arm, right?” If he was going to get Shiro behind the shelter of the boulder, that would involve a lot of pulling and tugging. Shiro gave him the negative and Keith positioned himself behind the other man, gripping under his arms and avoiding the injured shoulder as best he could. It was going to need some serious treatment after all this was over.

He leaned his weight back and dragged Shiro a few tentative inches, then braced his feet and put his back into it. Despite the bigger man’s deadweight, Keith managed to maneuver him without too much difficulty into the narrowest space behind the rock. Shiro’s helmet thudded gently against the ground as Keith lowered his arms and rearranged him so he _looked_ comfortable, even if it didn’t objectively matter.

Back here in the shadows it was almost impossible to see Shiro’s face. The running lights on his suit were dimly returning to life but the glow from them was sickly and cast Shiro in blue highlights like bruises.

In spite of his growing apprehension of the open sky behind him, Keith took the time to wedge himself into a crouch between Shiro’s torso and the rock wall.

“Close your eyes, okay? Try to sleep. It’ll make it seem like I’m back even faster.” He didn’t need to voice his thoughts that it would make Shiro less likely to panic -- not that he could hurt himself, paralyzed like this, but Keith’s heart turned sour at the thought of Shiro struggling against his demons all alone and helpless.

He reached out and activated the chin piece on the black helmet, fully sealing Shiro into whatever protection the armor could offer. Briefly he thought about holding his hand, maybe trying to massage some feeling back into it, but there wasn’t time and it was a stupid way to offer comfort anyway, more so now that Shiro couldn’t feel it. Keith ought to go, he was only putting them both in more danger by lingering. The creature could come back any time.

Standing up, he looked down at his companion and watched as the twin gleams of light reflected in Shiro’s eyes flickered out, his eyelids closing unwillingly. His breathing was at a normal rhythm now and Keith stayed a minute longer just to make sure that everything was as good as it could be. It was too hard to tell if Shiro was actually asleep or if he was faking it for Keith’s benefit -- he wouldn’t put it past the older man to play along just to assuage Keith’s fears while still suffering himself. Damned selflessness.

Before he could convince himself of another excuse to hesitate, Keith turned and hurried to the nearest crevice in the wall that had a sliver of daylight shining through. He refused to look back.

Outside, the sunlight was nearly blinding for many moments; he flattened himself against the wall and shielded his eyes, trying to scan the sky and failing as his eyes burned. His helmet at last dialed up the polarization enough to let him see without squinting and he peeled himself away from the rock. The sky was empty for now.

Keith took a moment of scrolling through his wrist computer to locate the shuttle’s beacon and set the shortest course to it. Now that he had a heading, he took one last wary glance at the sky before darting down the treacherous slope and setting out at a dead run once he hit level ground.

\--

The ground tore by under his boots but even Keith’s stamina had its limits. The adrenaline surge and crash from earlier had taken its toll on his body, as had the initial frantic search for Shiro and the fight with the creature. He was only halfway across the gray-grass plains when he felt his knees weakening, long loping strides turning into wobbling steps sideways.

Keith started to slow, telling himself it was only a breather until he could catch his second wind, but it was all too apparent that exhaustion had its claws deep in him. Only the thought of Shiro spurred him on, kept him putting one wavering foot in front of the other. By now the shuttle was in sight, a bright gleam on its hillock, and Keith took off his helmet now that the visor wasn’t needed.

Even the stagnant breeze of the prairie, hot and stuffy, felt good in his hair and against his sweaty forehead. He glanced at his wrist computer and grimaced when he couldn’t read the Altean numerals to see how long he’d been gone. It was useless to measure time by this alien sky so he had to hope he was making good speed.

He arrived at the torn ground near the shuttle and stopped to collect the scattered tools and materials lying about. Now that his body was too tired to keep _going-going-going_ , his mind was thinking more rationally about the situation. Rushing in half-assed wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

For starters, he needed water and a protein bar for himself, then to sit down and -- slowly and carefully -- repair what he could of the shuttle. _Then_ he could go racing off again to the cave.

Stepping into the shuttle, he kicked the bag full of glowing plants out of the way and headed between the facing rows of seats up to the cockpit. There were several indicator lights still blinking: engine trouble, coolant leak, nothing he didn’t know before. His hand hovered over the switch for the shield. It would drain power, but there should be enough fuel in the tank to get them back to the castle. Better to run out and have to radio for pickup than to have himself carried off in the middle of repairs. Keith flipped the toggle and relaxed as a bluish film covered the sky outside the window. At least the shield was in proper working order.

There were a couple of ration bars in a supply sack on the copilot’s chair where Keith had left his stuff. Both were labelled in Hunk’s careful handwriting -- “pot roast” and “mac n cheese” -- but Keith knew from experience that they both tasted vaguely like chicken. Still, on principle, he left the mac’n’cheese one for Shiro and took the other outside as he went to survey the engines.

Sure enough, as Shiro had said earlier, the coolant tank had a messily-patched hole in the side. With his eyes Keith traced the tubes connecting the tank to the engine block and he didn’t need to touch it to see that the material was disintegrating. He’d had the same problem on his hoverbike until he’d scrounged around the local scrapyard and by chance found some corrosion-resistant pipes. No chance of there being any replacement parts around here.

He crouched and sorted through the collection of tools until he came up with a soldering iron and finished patching the tank. Shiro had also set aside some sheet metal and odd bits of pipe that might fit over the coolant tubes. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it should at least get him back to the cave. After he got Shiro safely aboard, he would have more time to come back and find a better fix.

The shield flickered once and Keith paused in his work, glaring at it over his shoulder.

“Just five more minutes,” he growled, and bent to his task with renewed force.


	3. There is a Cure

It was so hard to sleep when the whole world felt like an out-of-body experience. Shiro had tried so hard to close his eyes and relax while he knew Keith was right there; it was the safest he could feel given the circumstances. But it was hard to clear his mind when all he could think about was how he _ought_ to feel the ground under him, how he _ought_ to be in pain from when the creature had flung him against the rock floor. He wanted, needed, to raise a hand to his face just to make sure his body was still really there.

He couldn't see anything but the very edges of his helmet and the rock above him. He couldn't even turn his head to track Keith's footsteps as they hurried across the cavern and slowly faded from hearing. Really, he tried to tell himself, he should be grateful for this. Of all the effects the poison could have had, this was the least life-threatening. Although it was hard to appreciate that because right now he wanted so badly to feel _something_ that even pain would have been welcome.

Shiro blinked slowly and tried to regulate his breathing, counting to five on each inhale and exhale. Those were the two things left to him, the two actions he could voluntarily perform, and he wasn't going to take them for granted. He deliberated each blink, took control of his own lungs. There was no sense in leaving his body to reflexes and instincts when those were all he had to busy himself with.

Focusing all his willpower, he tried to move his mouth just a little. If he could get any sound to come out, then it would be a victory -- and a better way of communicating than blinks. But he might as well have been commanding the rocks around him to pick up and move.

Maybe sleeping would be easier than he'd thought. For once he actually wanted to feel the sharp bite of the rocks under him, the constant bone-dull ache from his right arm, any of the hundred little inconveniences that came with life. But there was nothing there, nothing to hold his attention and he found his mind wandering all too easily.

It wasn't too bad as long as he was consciously aware of his train of thought and could derail it every time it strayed too close to memories of prison and being strapped down, helpless and immobile, to the torture bed. He took interest in the striations of the rock wall rising just barely within his line of sight. Small bubbles pitted the surface instead of having a crystalline structure -- pumice, maybe?

Shifting his eyes to the other side, he could see the crescent edge of the opening and a sliver of brazen sky beyond. Not much of interest there, either, but it gave him something to do. Not that he could take action if the creature came back; even if it startled him it wasn't as if his body could react.

How long had Keith been gone? Time was impossible to judge when each moment of straining against the nothingness was an eternity. Shiro knew that Keith was more than competent -- it took skills to survive alone in the desert, and he'd only gotten stronger now that he was the Red Paladin. Still, the creature had struck from the blue and even Shiro, who had lived by his instincts in the arena, had been taken unawares. Keith knew to keep an eye out, but if he was on the open plain and saw the dragon coming, there wasn't much he could do to avoid it.

Well this was a destructive line of thinking. Shiro knew that he needed to keep calm and somehow that knowledge only made him want to panic even more. He needed something to do other than blink and breathe! Even his tongue lay dead in his mouth, the sensation barely there with no possibility of conscious control. He kept working his mouth in small twitches, telling himself that it was getting easier and he could beat this poison by strength of will alone, because even a false hope was better than none at all.

When that became tiring and so frustrating that he wanted to just bite his tongue off for not cooperating, he switched to counting breaths instead. Not the most entertaining past time, but if each breath took five seconds and Keith had said he'd be back in forty minutes... Shiro intentionally dropped a digit and had to start over. It would be easier if he had use of his hands because then he could work with more complicated numbers, but he could run formulas in his head all day. What was the square root of nine thousand? The highest three-digit prime? His birth year times Keith's?

He was _almost_ annoyed when a growing rumble of engines trembled through the ground, reverberating through his skull, and he lost track of the decimal places.

The shuttle landed somewhere outside the cave and Shiro quieted his breathing, listening intently for the sound of footsteps carried through the rock. Instead there was a long pause and he started to question whether he’d really heard anything at all or if it was just his hopeful imagination. The silence was getting oppressive.

A faint scraping sound came from... somewhere off to the side and Shiro stopped breathing entirely. Had the creature come back? More loose stones clattered against each other, followed by an unexpected crackle directly in Shiro’s ears.

“Hey,” Keith’s voice rang out through the comms, and Shiro mentally pictured his own shoulders sagging in relief. “This was dumb of me not to call earlier, right? Sorry if I woke you up though.”

Shiro’s lips twitched at the corners again as he tried to tell Keith not to worry, but of course no words came out.

A shadow loomed over him and he rolled his eyes up to see the Red Paladin’s silhouette above him. Keith leaned down closer, his face upside-down in Shiro’s vision, and reached out to touch his helmet before pulling his hand back.

“Just making sure you’re still with me.” The thin smile did nothing to hide the fading fear in Keith’s eyes. His gaze raked over Shiro’s body as if checking for any new wounds, and the older man would have shied away if he could, turned one shoulder toward him defensively and told him to get a move on. There were more important things at stake than Shiro’s own health, such as _getting the hell out of there before Keith got attacked too._

“You doing okay?” It was a dumb question and Shiro blinked brusquely ‘yes’, hoping to somehow convey his impatience. But Keith’s obvious relief at the answer -- or perhaps at getting any sort of response out of Shiro -- made him guilty. As much as Shiro was stressed over Keith’s welfare, so was Keith too heavily invested in Shiro’s. And if humoring him would keep Keith’s anxiety at bay, then Shiro would answer stupid questions all day.

Keith straightened back up and shuffled around, getting into a position where he could grip under Shiro’s arms. “If anything hurts, um... I’m sorry. Got to do this.”

The only indication Shiro had that they were moving was that his view of the cave shifted, the wall sliding past him foot by foot as Keith dragged him backward out of the crevice and into the main chamber. There they paused for a moment, the sound of Keith’s breathing heavy even through Shiro’s helmet.

“This is probably not going to be comfortable, so I really hope you still can’t feel anything. It’s kind of a bumpy slope down to the shuttle.” Keith hefted him under the arms again, then stopped. “Actually, I’m going to try something. Watch me make a fool of myself.”

Shiro couldn’t well do anything _but_ watch, flopping limply when Keith laid him down and rolled him onto his right side. By this point it was already an old ache that he wanted to say something encouraging to the other paladin, but in a way it was nice to hear Keith talking so much. He’d already said more in the last five minutes than he usually spoke in a day -- maybe it was nerves, maybe it was for Shiro’s benefit, maybe it was to fill up the void that threatened to spread between them.

He wished that Keith would unseal the lower half of his helmet so he could hear better instead of relying on the comms, but Keith didn’t seem inclined to do so. With reason, it became apparent, as the smaller man rolled Shiro all the way onto his face and moved around to crouch in front of him.

 _A fireman’s carry? Really, Keith?_ Shiro had fully expected Keith to simply drag him out to the shuttle -- it would be humiliating for him but easier on Keith. Instead he got this chivalric nonsense of Keith deadlifting him into a kneeling position, wrapping his arms around the wide bulk of Shiro’s chest, and heaving him up over his shoulders.

Shiro had to concede him points for strength, even as the breath was suddenly forced from Shiro by what was probably an armored shoulder to the gut. This way it was harder for him to see where they were going but he kept track of Keith’s slow and deliberate footsteps, always testing the surface before shifting their combined weight forward.

They made it out through a narrow crack in the wall and Shiro blinked hard as his eyes adjusted to the sudden increase in daylight. Keith stopped and leaned forward, sliding Shiro off his shoulder and back onto the ground, rolling him on his side so he could see what they were up against. The flat ground ended in a steep slope of gravel and weathered chunks of pumice; it was a dozen yards of prime footing for broken ankles, and beyond that the shuttle was perched on the nearest semi-stable outcropping, looking like Keith had stuck the landing by luck and willpower.

“Just give me a moment. If I can’t think of anything else, I’ll carry you down.”

Shiro blinked vehemently twice but of course Keith wasn’t looking. Once his mind was made up, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, not even from Shiro. Not even if it meant getting seriously hurt himself.

“This was the closest landing place I could find. Turns out this whole damn mountain is ringed with loose rubble so any direction we go, I’m going to have to --” Keith whipped around, his entire demeanor radiating fear, and focused on the sky well beyond Shiro’s limited patch of vision. Swearing, he glanced down at Shiro, then back at the sky, then around for any sort of cover. It wasn’t hard to guess what was approaching.

Without warning, Keith grabbed Shiro’s arms regardless of his injured shoulder, and slung him onto his back again. Shiro tried to shout -- he wasn’t sure what other options there were, but anything would be safer than this -- as Keith planted one foot on the gravel and started to slide down the slope. The weight on his back helped keep him stable for the first yard or so until his boot hit a snag and he stumbled forward. His left knee gave out under him and that was enough to upset his whole balance; the sky and the ground flashed by in intervals as Shiro rolled down the slope, helpless to stop his own fall.

There was a screeching overhead, heard through the clatter and rush of rock and the pulse pounding in Shiro’s ears. He slammed to a stop against the side of the shuttle with nothing more to show for his fall than battered armor and unfelt bruises. On the slope above, just barely visible if he rolled his eyes all the way to the side, the sand-colored creature was hovering above Keith on beating wings and striking with its long neck. There was a burst of red and white and Shiro caught a glimpse of the red bayard raised defiantly before an agonized yell split the air.

In an instant, Shiro’s whole body surged up into a defensive stance, muscles taut and ready to spring or dodge as needed... but his view of the bare sky and the sliver of rock didn’t change at all. It was like his phantom arm, he could feel it, he knew what it was doing, could see it in his mind’s eye -- but nothing happened. His lips pulled back into a barely-there grimace and he choked on his breath with the need to scream, to _move_.

There was more movement up on the slope, frantic sword blows and parries that his fuzzy vision could barely make out. Shiro poured every ounce of his energy into his muscles, willing his limbs to pick himself up, and felt nothing but his heart rate increasing dangerously fast. Out of sight, the creature screamed, a grating noise that raked against his eardrums like shattered stone. Then there was a rattling as rocks skipped down the slope, a dull pounding transmitted through where his helmet was pressed to the ground, and Keith’s shadow flitted over him, followed by the thud of his body hitting the shuttle as he couldn’t stop fast enough.

Shiro tried to find Keith, needed to see him and assess the damage -- his outcry had been filled with pain -- but instead a lean arm wrapped around his waist and lifted him out of pure adrenaline. Somehow Keith had wrenched open the side door and Shiro was bodily tossed inside like a sack of grain, his head bouncing as he struck the floor and slid half a foot. But Keith was already smacking the panel to shut the door and leaping over his body, all flying limbs and stumbling haste, and scrambling for the pilot’s seat.

Not an instant later, the ship rocked violently as the creature’s weight landed on the roof, almost directly above Shiro judging by the screeching and the sound of claws tearing at cheap scrapyard metal. Shiro’s eyes focused on the ceiling, half expecting to see dents from the weight or punctures from sickle-shaped claws, but the infrastructure seemed to be holding for now. He glanced back at Keith, wondering what was taking so long, just as the engines roared to life and the whole craft tremored.

Aggravated growling came from the roof and the sound of tearing intensified as if the shuttle was being peeled apart layer by layer down to its bones. Metal sheeting squealed as it was torn back until the noise was covered by the thick, silent blanket of air rushing past as the ship left the ground. Looking out the windshield didn’t reveal much except a brassy expanse of sky, although the tilt of the floor indicated that they weren’t rising sharply enough to gain any real altitude. Apparently the speed was enough to dislodge the creature though, as the sounds of the attack ceased and the craft leveled out better now that it was free of the extra weight. Keith was hunched in the pilot’s chair, one hand curled in his lap, his right hand dancing over the control board and correcting the manual steering.

It was impossible to get his attention so all Shiro could do was wait and watch while the vibrations and occasional overcorrection shifted him back and forth on the floor like loose luggage. After a minute he frowned -- or wanted to -- and wondered why they weren’t out of the atmosphere yet. They didn’t seem to be ascending any farther than what it had initially taken to leave the plateau; in fact, the wobbling seemed to be angled back toward the ground if anything. The two of them were on board, they had the damn crystals they’d come for, they’d clearly outstayed their welcome on this planet!

Through the fuzz in his brain Shiro picked out a rising trill that he had at first dismissed as the wind, but now registered as an alarm klaxxon. His gaze shot back to Keith, who was reaching across himself to hold the steering stick loosely in his left hand while his right swept even faster over the array of buttons and dials. The shuttle dipped and weaved worse than before and no matter now much adrenaline was running laps in Keith’s system, no matter how badly injured he might be, Shiro knew that he was a far better pilot than this -- something was wrong with the ship.

Another alarm rang out shrilly, a special tone that Shiro knew from hundreds of training scenarios. Engine failure. With the coolant system barely patched, plus whatever damage the dragon had wreaked, the entire engine block was probably overheating. And if they were in the sky when that happened...

“Damn it!” echoed twice in Shiro’s ears, once muffled from the cockpit and again much louder through his helmet comm. “Damn it, not now!”

The engines sputtered and the whole shuttle lurched sideways, crashing Shiro into the panelled base of the row of seats. Keith corrected quickly but it was apparent that they weren’t going to stay airborne much longer, and it was with relief that Shiro felt his ears pop as they descended.

“Hold tight!” Keith shouted back even though the warning was useless. The shuttle had barely slowed from cruising speed, the overheated engines unable to shut off properly, as the landing gear touched down and were promptly ripped off. Bucking wildly, the ship plowed nose-first into the dirt, fishtailing and careening partly onto its side. Shiro’s armor had enough friction with the flooring so that he wasn’t tossed about too badly, but the cockpit took the brunt of the hit and he could see Keith get whiplashed against the console and then against the back of his chair. At last the shuttle’s momentum died and it ground to a halt, the engines’ angry rumble fading to silence as the ship settled mostly upright and level.

Shiro kept his eyes on where Keith was slouched in his chair -- unconscious? He couldn’t even bite his lip in frustration.

Finally there was some indication of movement from the Red Paladin, his left hand moving slowly back to his lap, clearly injured. His shoulders stayed slumped, his neck loose and head resting against the back of the chair, more defeated and subdued than Shiro had seen him. But although his demeanor was exhausted, at least he was alive, coughing as he gathered his legs under him and stood up shakily. He turned around, right hand on the chair for support, and even though his face was out of Shiro’s range of sight, he could tell the exact moment Keith remembered the entire situation. Keith’s shoulders steeled themselves, posture rigid, always putting another’s priorities before his own. Shiro looked away. All he really needed now was to make sure Keith was all right -- clearly he hadn’t been stung, but that scream --

Keith heavily took a knee beside Shiro. He didn’t say anything, not a word of apology, as he reached out one-handed and rolled Shiro’s limp body onto his back. Anxiously Shiro waited for words; he could tell a lot of Keith’s mood from his tone, but right now the younger man stayed silently out of his line of sight. It wasn’t Keith’s fault, of course, none of this was, but he wasn’t likely to think like that. Always one for action over words, and right now even his actions were lacking as he crouched beside Shiro.

 _It’s okay, I forgive you completely, if that’s what you need to hear._ The words echoed around and around in Shiro’s head with no outlet.

Finally Keith leaned over to unseal the black helmet and slid it off, letting it slowly rotate away on its curved surface as he eased Shiro’s head to lie against the metal floor. While Keith’s attention was busy on his hands, avoiding Shiro’s gaze, it wasn’t hard to see the tiny droplets of guilt shimmering in his eyes and threatening to fall. One did, landing on his visor and rolling out of sight behind the curved cheekpiece. Shiro locked his eyes onto the ceiling and gave Keith the space he needed; the Red Paladin turned away to remove his own helmet and if he took an extra moment to run a hand over his face, neither acknowledged it.

Keith’s face appeared once more, hovering, back to the dour expression that he usually presented to the other paladins. Normally he was more open, when it was just him and Shiro alone, but it was probably for the best that he was more reserved right now. One of them needed some perspective about the situation, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Shiro, not with the way his breathing was accelerating again and he couldn’t stop screaming at himself in his mind to just flex his hand, sit up, move his lips. It was a constant cycle between helplessness and anger and fear, and all three of those emotions were enough to fill his thoughts with static that blocked out the rest of the world.

It was some moments later that he registered that Keith had one hand cupping his chin, pulling him to face worried amethyst eyes, and the other paladin was talking to him.

“-- be okay, I promise. Please stay with me, Shiro. This is all new to me too and I don’t want to be alone.”

Shiro sucked in a deep breath and held it, exhaling through his nose. He couldn’t nod but tried to give Keith as reassuring a blink as he could.

“Right. Okay. Um...” He knelt up and reached for the buckles of Shiro’s chestpiece, intent to take it off and check for any more wounds incurred during the landing.

Brow creased as much as he could, Shiro stared across the narrow width of the shuttle at the medical compartment built into the far wall. _Hello, Keith? Antidote please?_ Instead his chest armor opened and the other paladin shifted it back and forth, working it out from under Shiro’s back. Shiro stared harder, using all his frustration at himself to try and will the cabinet open. Might as well try to levitate objects, since the sensation was the exact same as his unresponsive body. Command the door to open, command his fingers to twitch as Keith held his hand and worked the bracers off. No use in either case.

Still, however long it took, at last Keith got the hint when he glanced up briefly to check on Shiro. He noted the Black Paladin’s fixed gaze and flicked a look back over his shoulder, then paused and looked again with a furrowed brow.

“What -- _Oh_.” He pushed himself up onto hands and knees, then to his feet, and launched himself at the medicine cabinet. “Sorry, sorry.” Wrenching the door open, Keith grabbed the somewhat dented box from inside and crashed it down beside Shiro. All the older man saw was a corner of white plastic before Keith tore into it, shredding the wrapping and reaching both hands into the shoebox-sized container. It was pretty clear that all he wanted to do was tear through the supplies -- and honestly Shiro felt the exact same -- but trashing their only first aid kit wasn’t a good idea.

Keith pulled his hands back to his chest, clenching them against the armor there, and breathed slowly. Shiro almost wanted to laugh; it seemed _patience yields focus_ had really worked its way deep into Keith’s mind. Once again, it was good that one of them was able to take this situation slowly and rationally.

The Red Paladin began rifling through the box again, keeping things much more orderly this time, setting aside rolls of gauze, bottles of pills, unidentifiable objects that it was safer to discard than guess at how to use. At last his expression shifted, lip curling up in disdain, and he lifted his right hand out of the box so Shiro could see what he’d found. Between thumb and forefinger dangled a syringe gun, metal glinting dully and highlighting the ugly shape of the almost-weapon.

Shiro’s mind recoiled at the sight, eyes flickering to Keith and back, and he hoped that there was another alternative. Surely whatever aliens stocked the shuttle still believed in good old-fashioned needles, right? Not that he was a big fan of those, either, but Keith could inject something into his arm and he wouldn’t have to feel it, wouldn’t even have to see it if his head was tilted away. All over and done before he realized it, with no extra trauma needed.

But no, instead he got a damn _gun_ that would be pressed up against his neck while Keith pulled the trigger. Who cared that it would administer medicine instead of a bullet, the method was the same. Shiro refused to cry, refused to let the repeated forced weakness and dependency bring him down to that level, but he was close. So close.

Luckily Keith laid the gun aside, out of sight but still in his pile of possible solutions. “Gotta be something more normal-looking, right?” he asked redundantly. Shiro raised an eyebrow (or it felt like he did; it was easier to _imagine_ expressions than to form them). He couldn’t see into the box so it would be all up to Keith to pull out some sort of magical device. But it wouldn’t do to hold out hope -- the box was small, and if there was anything else useful in there Keith would have found it by now.

When Shiro strained his eyes far to the right to see what Keith was doing, his mind flinched away from the vials of liquid in his hands. Ammo cartridges for the syringe gun. So that was how it had to be, huh. Keith leaned over, peering closer at the labels.

This was so stupid, really. Even if he would be able to feel it, a slight sting would be nothing. After so much worse, so many injections and shots and needles stuck in him by the druids, he ought to be laughing now. _Ought to laugh; this’ll be easy; over before I know it_ , he told himself over and over again, even as he felt himself edging closer to tears again. He didn’t want to cry, had never cried as a solution to any problem, but there wasn’t much recourse right now. And that just made his eyes sting all the worse.

“Okay, so I’m pretty sure this is a general antivenin,” Keith said, holding up a blue-tinted vial. He didn’t look over, focused on the cartridge in his other hand, for which Shiro was thankful as he blinked hurriedly. “This one looks like some kind of stimulant, which, I don’t know... maybe will jolt your body awake if the other one doesn’t work? The rest of these are useless or unreadable.” He looked over the labels again of the two in his hands.

Hopefully the general antidote would work on whatever toxin was currently running through his bloodstream. Shiro didn’t want to take chances with unknown medicines, not when he would have to play the guinea pig with no way to get help if something should go catastrophically wrong. If worst came to worst he could just suffer in immobile silence while Keith repaired the shuttle and flew back to the castle.

There was a metallic click and Keith leaned back into his line of view, medical gun in his hands but out of sight. “Shiro, I need to know you’re okay with this. I’m going to give you the full dose of the antidote in your neck. I figure it’ll take effect faster that way. Yes or no?”

Shiro considered telling him no and stalling, but that would be too hard to communicate. Right now, at least, the panic of not being able to move was swelling up again, drowning out his dislike of the gun. He locked eyes with Keith and gave him the go-ahead.

“Right. Maybe look away?” Keith’s hand touched Shiro’s cheek, a comforting gesture that also served to block Shiro’s view of his neck. Thankful for small blessings, the older paladin let his eyes fall shut and concentrated on the warm roughness of Keith’s skin against his own. There was a bit of discomfort at his neck, just under his jawline, but he consoled himself with the fact that at least there was feeling there at all. His face twitched spasmodically, out of his control, but Keith took that as a signal of some sort and began stroking his thumb back and forth along the tattered edge of Shiro’s scar.

Maybe closing his eyes was the wrong idea, or maybe it was the constant soothing reminder of Keith’s presence, or maybe it was the venom or the stress or _whatever_ , but Shiro found himself drifting off. It was easier to sleep this way, without having to worry about the pains of his body, and as Keith started talking about how much work he’d have to do to get the shuttle skyworthy again, even that lulled him farther from reality. Dimly, Shiro knew that it was cruel of him to leave Keith on his own at this point, but his mind was too fuzzy and the thought was too tempting that when he woke up, everything would be back to normal and he would be able to move again.

Keith called his name once, then again with mounting concern, but Shiro was slipping away into a dreamless sleep and didn’t hear.


	4. Or There is None

Keith's hand went still as ice against Shiro's cheek. The antivenin wasn't made for humans; who knew what the side effects were? And now the other paladin was passed out on the floor.

The only bright side was that Shiro's breathing was steadier now than it had been, warm exhales brushing past Keith's wrist. That was good, it had to be good. Keith refused to believe otherwise. While he was relieved that Shiro was getting some rest, this wasn't exactly the best time to be taking a nap. Maybe it was a result of the antidote. Keith tried to make himself believe that for his own peace of mind.

Sitting back on his haunches, Keith let his hand withdraw reluctantly and regarded Shiro's sleeping form. There was so much that still needed to be done -- check for wounds, see if the antidote was working, give him water, but none of that could really be done now. Keith reached out toward the pile of armor pieces he'd removed and stacked them on one of the rows of seats. It didn't sit right with him to undress Shiro any more while he was unconscious, even if he needed to, so that would have to wait.

In the meantime, the shuttle was also demanding his attention. There had been too many alarms going off simultaneously earlier for him to even remember what had gone wrong. The whole ship was a junkyard find to begin with; it would be a miracle if it could still fly at all after the beating it had been subjected to.

But more pressing on Keith's mind, as he turned around and knocked over a spool of gauze, was finding more medical supplies. If this antidote hadn't worked, there had to be something else around that _would_ , right? He bent and tossed all the loose supplies back into their box and returned it to its compartment. Never having to deal with that again would be too soon for him.

The back part of the ship was partitioned off by a heavy bulkhead, separating the interior engine block and a small area of storage space from the passenger seating. Keith hadn't bothered inspecting back there before (a glaring oversight on his part, he now realized bitterly) but it was worth a shot. Leaving Shiro still supine and breathing softly, he threw his strength into spinning the wheel to open the rear compartment.

The door grated open, particles of rust falling loose around the frame. That was just tops. Keith frowned and shoved his shoulder against the metal, _hoping_ he got bruised from the force. It would serve him right for letting this happen. Back at the junkyard, he'd been the one to pick out the shuttle and tell Shiro, "There's nothing that I can't fly -- remember that hoverbike you gave me to patch up? This'll be easy for two pilots like us." And the ship probably would have worked, too, for a one-off trip to collect supplies and nothing more. But of course the unexpected had to blindside them like it always did.

Inside the engine compartment was a landscape of metal and wires, illuminated by a flickering incandescent that came to life belatedly after the door was opened. It was amazing and slightly terrifying the level of technology employed in this room -- the lights seemed centuries old when compared to the plasma engines and the tangle of assorted parts scattered across the floor and hanging from wall hooks in some semblance of order.

At first glance it was crushingly disappointing. Keith had half hoped to find the room full of stashed away odds and ends, miscellaneous supplies that would make up for the rest of the shuttle being half-stocked and falling apart. But even a cursory look revealed nothing that wasn't mechanical in nature. One piece in particular did catch Keith's eye, a bit of red paint and a sizeable rubber tire hidden partly behind the engine console.

He backtracked to the door for a moment to check on Shiro, then climbed over bundles of pipes and fusion rods to get to the back corner. Keith grabbed hold of the handlebars attached above the wheel and pulled, glad for his gloves and the fact that there weren't cobwebs in space. With a groan of stiff metal bearings, it came loose and Keith chuckled despite himself as the bright red frame rolled out of its hiding place.

A motorcycle! Or at least that was the closest word for it. It was narrow, two-wheeled, with a long saddle seat covered in cracked black leather. The fairing was missing off the front, along with whatever served it as an engine, but the overall shape was sleek and fast if a bit antique. Keith let his eyes sweep over the bike, fingers closing on the worn handles. If he was back at the Garrison, he would have loved to set to work with a wrench and a wire brush until this bike could give even a hovercraft a good run. But now his enthusiasm died quickly and he leaned it back against the wall. It wasn't what he was looking for, and he had no use for it.

He turned away and hurried back to the door. Maybe there were more supply compartments in the main part of the ship, where he could find medicine or food. Leaving the door ajar, he stopped beside Shiro and considered the two facing rows of seats. They weren't comfortable as chairs and would be worse as a bed, but... The left row was four cushions long, the size of a big couch, and Shiro was laid out next to it. Might as well get him off the floor.

Keith cleared off all the seatbelts, tucking them between the cushions or cutting them off when they proved too tangled to salvage. The seats themselves were faded but clean enough; not like there was much alternative. It didn't look any worse than some of the furniture in Keith's desert shack and it was certainly less sandy and likely to harbor scorpions. There was a stack of sloppily folded blankets thrown on the other row of seats and Keith snagged one to roll up and use as a pillow.

“At least we’ve got plenty of damn linens,” he growled to himself. “The one thing we _won’t_ die of is hypothermia.”

Maneuvering Shiro up and off the floor was an easy task compared to hauling him out of the cave earlier. The Black Paladin didn’t wake or stir during the process and Keith was half glad, half anxious. The prospect of unknown side effects still lingered in his thoughts. Once Shiro looked comfortable, in a vaguely funereal way, Keith decided the best thing was to leave him alone and focus on getting them both off the planet. Sitting here worrying was going to accomplish absolutely nothing.

Keith backtracked to the engine room and measured the bundles of pipes on the floor and skewed against the wall. None of them were the flexible kind needed to replace the coolant system, but with a welder and enough determination, he ought to be able to cobble together something passable. Even if the ship died again once they were in space, at least it would be easier for one of the other paladins to retrieve them there instead of trying to sneak past the local guards to get to the planet.

He looked around the small compartment one more time, checking for visible damage. Luckily the hull seemed intact after the creature’s attack so they wouldn’t have to worry about decompression. As for the rest of the ship... Keith trekked outside to assess the damage.

\--

Keith lingered in the doorway, reluctant to board the shuttle again. It was too silent inside; even Shiro’s breathing was too quiet to hear and it felt like entering a -- No. Better not to think of that. It was a sickroom, nothing more.

He stepped aboard and pulled the door shut behind him, blocking the hot breeze and oblique sunlight of late afternoon. The cabin’s interior lights came on automatically, austere white panels built into the ceiling, one cracked and dark. The engine room door was still open and Keith pulled it closed for good measure. Ahead of him was a three-foot-wide walkway with facing rows of seats, and the rounded area of the cockpit. It was big enough for him to move easily but the lack of side windows made it feel claustrophobic.

It didn’t help that Shiro hadn’t moved at all -- Keith would have felt better if his arm had slipped off his chest, or if the blanket had ridden down and needed to be adjusted. As it was there wasn’t anything to do except tuck in the same corner of the blanket again and again, an easier gesture to justify than sweeping back Shiro’s bloodcrusted forelock. They were both still filthy, Keith’s armor around his left wrist cracked and dented by the creature’s teeth, Shiro’s whole body beaten and dusty.

Keith crossed the cabin to the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of disinfectant. It would hurt less to use water to clean their wounds, but with no time frame for getting off the planet, it was better to ration what they had in their canteens. Using his knife to cut one of the cleaner-looking blankets into rags, he took a knee by Shiro’s shoulder and doused the cloth.

“You awake?” he muttered as a formality.

Shiro’s eyes moved behind his lids but he didn’t wake. The spiderweb of blood was still sprawled across his face, the dried blood black and flaking. His white hair was tinged with red-brown.

Keith removed his gloves, hissing as the acerbic liquid bit into the multitude of small cuts on his fingers. Gingerly he took a corner of the cloth and dabbed at the worst of the blood. It came off easily, dissolving and staining the rag vivid pink as Keith worked his way from the corner of Shiro’s eye down his cheek to a thin line that trailed over his jaw and onto his neck. Below that was the gash from the stinger, now dark and hardened. Keith traced the lips of the cut with a careful fingertip but there didn’t seem to be any infection or swelling. Small blessings, or something like that.

The wound on his scalp was next and Keith bit his lip at the sight of the matted hair, the undercut caked and flattened to his skull like a helmet. Clearly the wound had continued bleeding even after Keith had retrieved the black helmet -- which would also need to be thoroughly cleaned, now that he thought of it -- and it looked far worse than it had initially.

The bottle of disinfectant stood half empty on the floor by Keith’s knees as he wiped the cloth over Shiro’s head, trying to work out the blood without reopening the cut. It was slow going but Keith was patient, letting his free hand wander as he stroked with the cloth. The rest of Shiro’s hair was thick with sweat as Keith carded his fingers along his crown, and the younger paladin wished he had more than a torn blanket and rubbing alcohol at his disposal.

Plus there was a weight in his chest that made his touch tremble as it brushed against Shiro’s forehead. The dragon-creature had done more damage to the shuttle than some dents and paint scratches -- the coolant tank had been torn open the rest of the way, the tubing completely gone, and all of the fluid had leaked out. There was no way to launch the shuttle now, not without turning it into a giant fireball when the engines overloaded. They were going to have to wait this one out, crouched like rats in the safety of the ship, until Allura could send a Lion to retrieve them. And given the current state of things, with the castle functioning below capacity and everyone busy on their own errands, a rescue could take a while.

Keith’s hands had stalled in their progress of wiping the blood and instead his right hand rested heavily against Shiro’s crown. His left still held the cloth, now tracing a corner of it along the prominent cheekbone again and again, threads snagging on the roughened tissue of the scar.

“I don’t know what to do...” he whispered. The urge welled up in him again, as it had so many times before, to bury his face in Shiro’s neck and close his eyes and forget about the world just for a minute. Instead he bit the inside of his lip. So many times he’d wanted that, and so many times it hadn’t been possible -- Shiro would judge him, Shiro was missing, Shiro was busy with his own internal crises -- that Keith had become used to letting the ache grow until it eventually faded away.

Even now, with Shiro’s eyes closed and his face blank of any expression, Keith couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was wrong. Taking advantage. Shiro wasn’t awake, wasn’t consenting.

Keith dropped the cloth and bowed his head, both fists clenched bone-grindingly tight against his thighs. He needed to breathe and clear his head so he could view this in perspective. He ought to be used to this feeling by now. It wasn’t like Shiro wasn’t supportive enough normally; quite the contrary. But Keith felt he could only live for so long, sustained by encouraging words and the occasional touch on the shoulder.

A stuttering inhale broke the quiet monotony of Shiro’s breathing and Keith jerked upright, eyes locking with Shiro’s concerned gaze.

“You’re back,” Keith offered with a small smile, and was thrilled to see Shiro’s brow relax in answer. “Any sign of the antidote working?”

Damn it, that was the wrong thing to say. The clouds were back over his expression as Shiro half-closed his eyes, concentrating on... nothing. No movement at all, not a twitch from where his hands were crossed on his chest.

Whatever momentary happiness Keith had found, fled like mist on the wind. His face fell back into its emotionless expression and he hoped that Shiro couldn’t read how upset he was. For the whole time since he’d found Shiro in this condition, Keith had promised both of them that there would be an easy fix, and of course there wasn’t.

“Well.” He looked away, swallowed, got his voice back under control. “Sorry.”

At this point there wasn’t really any need saying anything and he trailed off into silence again. He couldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes, not after his thoughts earlier. Not when Keith still felt the need to hide his face and drown in physical contact. He felt like the Black Paladin would be able to somehow read it on his face and the last thing he needed was more silent judgement.

“The coolant tank is totally gone,” he said as a way of making noise while he retrieved the cloth from where he’d left it draped on Shiro’s shoulder. “This ship’s never going to fly again.”

He waited for a response but Shiro only wrinkled his forehead and kept his eyes on Keith. The younger paladin huffed and looked away, fighting the starving sensation wrenching through his chest. Right now, he’d give anything for Shiro’s trite words of comfort. But instead, nope, he had to face all this head-on, because he was the only one who currently could do anything about their situation. Even if he didn’t know which direction to _start_ in.

“We could call for help,” he suggested, tone falling flat. “Let Allura know what’s going on, get someone to rescue us from this dump. Might as well, since we’re going nowhere on our own.”

He looked up to see Shiro blinking vehemently _no_. Keith’s lips twisted into a scowl and he sat back on his haunches, hiding from the line of sight.

“I don’t see any other option. Either we get someone down here, or you’re going to be paralyzed indefinitely while I play babysitter and hope neither of us dies. Face it, we’re not going to get a miracle.”

Keith knew he was being cruel but as long as he didn’t look up he didn’t have to remember who he was arguing with. Shiro needed to be realistic here. Since the antidote didn’t work, it was stupid to hope for a recovery out of the blue.

Yes, there was danger inherent in sending out a signal. The Galra were patrolling the system; it was only with stealth and perfect timing that the shuttle had managed to gain access to the planet, and sending out a broadband distress call would alert any and all nearby ships. But if the Castle picked it up, they could wormhole in and send a rescue -- hopefully -- long before the Galra could pinpoint their location. It would be risky but feasible, and Allura had proven her piloting skills before. Even with the Castle’s weapons offline, the remaining Lions could provide enough cover fire.

But Shiro wouldn’t hear of it. He wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s lives for his own sake.

Hissing out a harsh breath, Keith stood up. It wasn’t like Shiro could very well stop him. And if this earned him a tongue-lashing once they were back aboard the Castle, he would willingly take that, with the knowledge that Shiro was safe and well enough to bless him out.

As he turned away, he couldn’t help one last glance down -- it was stupid, to antagonize Shiro like this, but it was for the best -- and Shiro was looking at him with a face like the wrath of God. Keith turned away again, bitter but not looking for a fight, before he froze midstep. Shiro was _looking at_ him, meaning he’d turned his head enough to make eye contact. His chin was lifted defiantly a few degrees, not enough to really count but anything was better than his dead-ahead gaze.

Keith stood there over him for a moment, staring as if convincing himself that this was real.

“You, um.” His hand gestured vaguely by his side. “You can move?”

Shiro’s pissed expression immediately flipped into wide-eyed surprise. His head gave a nod so small that Keith would never have noticed it if he wasn’t staring at the paladin like he was the center of the world.

Well. Maybe the antidote was just exceptionally slow?

Keith’s knees went out from under him so fast he felt dizzy. “Can you move anything else?” His fingers hovered over Shiro’s hands even though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. There wasn’t even a flicker of movement.

Shiro’s head shifted just a fraction back and forth on the pillow, testing his range of motion. It seemed he’d regained some of the muscles in his neck and face, but his lips still refused to produce sound. At least his expressions were easier to read now as he frowned in concentration, then gave up with a short, exhausted sigh.

“Better than nothing,” Keith said, just to fill up the silence. He couldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes right now and busied himself with capping the bottle of disinfectant and setting it aside. But scooting the bottle around on the floor and folding and refolding the damp cloth could only keep him occupied for so long.

“I really think we should call for help. Even if you’re recovering, it’s going to take too long. That creature could come back any time and this ship’s got no shields to speak of.”

Shiro managed another shake of his head, vigorous enough that his forelock slipped down and covered one eye. Keith reached up and swept it back without thinking.

“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re too used to being a martyr and just --” Keith sat down with his back against the row of seats. “I’m not falling for it. Your dark humor, your apparent _death wish_. Not on my watch.” The words stung his mouth with their venom but he couldn’t stop them from pouring off his tongue. He needed an argument, someone to derail his thoughts from their current track, but instead he was trapped here with all his anxieties circling like vultures. Keith knew he was being awful but it was too easy to ignore Shiro and forge ahead.

Despite all that, despite the fact that the control console was five feet away and no one was stopping him from broadcasting a distress beacon, Keith stayed where he was at Shiro’s side. The silence dragged on in the shuttle and if not for the occasional sound of Shiro’s head moving against the pillow, Keith would have assumed he’d gone back to sleep. As it was, the Red Paladin could feel gray eyes on him, sweeping the slump of his shoulders and the tired curve of his spine and bowed head. It should be obvious to anyone that he wasn’t in any condition to lead or be responsible, so why did Shiro keep throwing blind faith at him? Just because Keith managed to catch his trust falls so many times didn’t mean that he could always provide a solution to every single problem.

It felt like the weight of his whole world.

It didn’t help him to realize that was probably the same weight that Shiro lived with every day.

Schooling his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression, he turned around. Shiro was waiting for him with tired eyes, resigned to whatever path Keith had decided on. Best not to start that argument again.

Keith knelt up and tucked the blanket in between the cushions for what felt like the hundredth time. “Sorry.” He didn’t look up.

Shiro hesitated but if he was trying to read Keith’s expression, he got nothing. Finally he nodded, the motion still limited but enough to render the blinking obsolete. That was fine; Keith wasn’t looking for forgiveness. Didn’t need it, didn’t deserve it, he told himself.

“I should probably see about getting you something to eat and drink.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at the change of topic, but Keith pretended not to notice. It was easier to talk when he didn’t have to acknowledge anything outside of himself. He knew, he _knew_ he was being an asshole, but there was a lack of venting options right now.

“Lemme go find the canteens,” he muttered, heading back toward where he’d left the collection bag by the door. His canteen was tucked in a side pocket and he removed it, tossing the heavy bag onto the opposite row of seats. Shiro’s gear was all in a slightly smaller pack propped in the corner near the engine compartment, but Keith decided to ration whatever was in there for emergencies.

He came back and wavered uncertainly by Shiro’s head. “Do you want to sit up, or are you okay lying down?”

Shiro pulled his lips straight, a blank expression that Keith interpreted as a shrug. There wasn’t any easy way for Shiro to be propped upright, not without rearranging his whole body and swinging his legs off the cushions, and Keith was just annoyed enough that it wasn’t worth the effort. Sure, he’d be kicking himself for it later, but right now all he wanted was to get something to eat and then crash for eight hours or more. The day had been one stress explosion after the other and his body was completely drained.

“Here’s some water for now. I’ll see about getting the food; hope the shuttle is at least _partially_ stocked with essentials. Otherwise we’ve got one of Hunk’s homemade rations and that’s it.”

No response, of course. Keith had to remind himself that Shiro wasn’t intentionally snubbing him right back.

It took a moment of thought for Keith to get situated but he finally realized that he couldn’t prop up Shiro’s head and neck without getting physical, so he sat down and scooted over until he could lift the other paladin partially into his lap. The weight wasn’t more than he could handle -- not after he’d hauled Shiro bodily out of the cave -- but it was different now that he was awake and aware, still testing out his range of motion as he shifted his head.

Resigning himself to the situation, well aware that it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he thought, Keith cradled Shiro’s head in one hand while the other tipped up the canteen. It was hard to gauge how fast to tilt it and a thin stream of water overflowed Shiro’s lips and dribbled down his chin and neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” Keith murmured, slowing the flow. Shiro swallowed, his throat moving convulsively, then choked. Quickly, Keith stuck the canteen behind his back, holding it upright against the cushion, as his arms went around Shiro’s chest. The bigger man gasped for breath, the sound bubbling in his throat, and Keith did his best to pull him more upright despite his unintentional spasms.

Shiro tried to cough but his chest wouldn’t cooperate and his wheezing continued for many long minutes. Long enough for Keith to fear he’d done serious harm; the thought made him wrap his arms tighter as he tried to keep his own breathing from doing gymnastics.

“What happened?” he asked when Shiro’s head fell back at last, turning to rest his forehead against Keith’s chest.

Settling Shiro back into his lap, Keith reached for the canteen again, but Shiro blinked _no_ and turned his head a few degrees away.

“You need water. You’ve got to drink something; work with me here.”

The Black Paladin looked apologetic but blinked twice again. Was there something else going on here? Maybe the poison had shut down more than just his nervous system? Keith closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, next idea. I saw some needles and lines in the med kit, so I could try to set up an IV? All I know is that dehydration is going to hit sooner or later.”

He looked down at Shiro, who took a moment to think over the idea before finally giving a tiny nod. At least they were on the same page for now.

Laying Shiro flat on the makeshift bed, Keith got the first aid box down for the third time that day. If he never had to see it again it would be too soon; it was starting to give him the same kind of goosebumps that the pod room did back on the Castle -- because every time he had to deal with it, it meant that someone had been hurt.

Among the supplies were several sealed bags of liquid that he’d dismissed on his initial inspection. The writing on the labels was all illegible but each had its chemical composition diagrammed out and it only took Keith a moment of intense recollection of Garrison classes to find a saline solution. Taking that, a wide needle, and a length of tubing, he returned to Shiro’s side where he set the items down out of sight. He’d seen the way Shiro had side-eyed the syringe gun earlier and there was no sense letting him get worked up over something he wouldn’t feel.

Settling on his knees, Keith at first reached for the other man’s right arm, since it was closer to the wall and more out of the way, before he paused and hesitantly took Shiro’s left arm where it was lying limp on his stomach.

“You’re okay with this, right?” The silence was getting unnerving again and Keith made eye contact simply to feel less alone. The shadows in the ship were getting longer as the double suns sank below the horizon, their orange glow overpowering the wan white lights in the last moments before sunset.

Shiro nodded again, always patient.

Keith bent to his task. Running an IV was part of basic training and he still remembered it perfectly. He fit the tubing to the bag, let the air out of line, and then reached for the needle. He rolled up the thick material of the undersuit to expose Shiro’s forearm; the disinfectant was still on the floor nearby and he swabbed some across the prominent veins in the crook of his elbow.

It was easier when he had something to focus on, because he let his brain notice the embossed crosshatching of scars only in passing, something to worry over in the solitude of nights when he couldn’t find sleep. Right now he concentrated on the more immediate details, like the way Shiro didn’t even flinch, didn’t breathe any differently when the broad needle drove into his arm and beads of blood welled up.

Finishing the initial setup, Keith stood and hooked the bag to the ceiling storage rack above the row of seats. His heart clenched when he saw that Shiro’s eyes had drifted mostly shut, already needing more sleep. Not that his company was the most lively at the moment, but Keith didn’t want to think about facing the long dark night with only quiet breathing to comfort him.

But better that than nothing, he thought darkly.

Shiro’s head was tilted at an uncomfortable angle, sliding off the pillow, and Keith bent to fix it. Already he was regretting his outburst earlier and the guilt gnawed at him. Tomorrow he would have to come up with something extra nice to do, to ease his conscience and because Shiro damn well deserved it. It wasn’t his fault that the stars had aligned wrong.

Warm gray eyes flickered open at the touch of Keith’s hands and Shiro turned his head in the limited range he could, tendons in his neck quivering as he fought the paralysis. His lips tried to form Keith’s name, a question, but failed to produce sound.

“It’s okay, take it easy,” Keith murmured. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, not right now when it felt like his heart was bleeding out. Cradling Shiro’s head with both hands, he laid him more evenly on the pillow and brushed the hair out of his eyes. Just because Shiro couldn’t feel much at the moment didn’t mean that Keith was going to treat his body as anything less than precious.

A whisper of warm breath across his inner wrist drew Keith’s attention to Shiro’s face. The older paladin had turned his head the slight distance allowed to him, just enough to graze his lips across skin in a half-kiss.

Keith’s lungs stopped, the air a solid block in his chest. This was a kiss, right, and not an accident? He wanted it so badly to be.

His hands froze long enough for Shiro to glance up at him self-consciously then look away with lowered brows, but Keith’s heart was singing. Maybe something good could come from this awful mission after all.

Maybe.

He desperately wanted to hope so.


	5. If There is One

Shiro woke in the darkness to the unwelcome feeling of phantom pains shooting down his right arm. All his muscles were clenched tight, trembling with the strain, and he could _feel_ the blood running down his skin, dripping off of fingers that were no longer there. With a heavy exhale, he closed his eyes again, concentrating on willing away the feeling. It wasn’t real -- even if he could move, even if he could massage his metal arm and try to convince himself that those nerve endings weren’t there any more, it wouldn’t stop the pain. He knew from experience that he would just have to wait for his brain to sort that out on its own.

He clenched his teeth and slowly let out a long whispering breath. Across the aisle, he could barely make out Keith’s soft breathing, the small murmurs and rustling noises of deep sleep. Good, at least he hadn’t made any unconscious noises to wake him up. Keith needed his rest after having to look after both of them all day.

Shiro frowned, concentrating on the ache in his chest instead of the flaring burn down every vein in his arm. Keith deserved so much better than having to haul Shiro’s dead weight around all the time. While Shiro appreciated the care -- without it, he would be dead already -- it still made him guilty beyond all else that there was nothing he could do in return. Keith was helping him stay nourished, get to sleep, even providing company so Shiro wouldn’t go out of his mind with the overwhelming horror of the paralysis. And here he couldn’t even lift a _finger_ in return. Literally.

Shame coiled in his gut. He couldn’t feel it, but it was familiar enough that he knew how his stomach would turn in on itself. It was humiliating to be reduced to this helplessness. Even if he had been injured instead, no matter how badly, he would have been able to offer Keith something in exchange, some way to show his gratitude other than the words that always died in his throat. Even if his tongue was free to speak, he couldn’t force it to form the sounds that Keith needed, _deserved_ , to hear.

Shiro licked his lips, remembering the faint taste and smooth texture of Keith’s skin. He still couldn’t believe his own audacity. He’d actually managed to kiss Keith, in the loose definition of the word; even if the timing was awful, his feelings were sincere. Just the very tip of the iceberg, but still something. Did Keith see it that way? Or did he see it as a pathetic appeal to his sympathy, did he regard Shiro as an object to be pitied and taken care of? It was a low blow, appealing to the most basic form of love and affection in the hope of forging a bond to keep Keith close.

Or maybe it meant nothing at all to him. Keith wasn’t a tactile person, he’d probably never been kissed at all before. Maybe he thought the habit was disgusting but he put up with it the same way he put up with settling Shiro’s IV, or laying him down at night, or asking the routine questions so many times: _How are you? Better? Can you move anything yet?_ Whatever the reason, Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to care.

At least he had an excuse now to be close to Keith and have some measure of friendly touch. That made the long dragging hours feel more worth it, if he now knew that at the end of every day he could count on Keith’s presence. And Shiro would be able to keep kissing him, as long as Keith didn’t complain, and he could tell his conscience that it was the only way to express his thanks. It would be better than constantly torturing himself over it -- easier said than done, of course, with nothing to do but let his mind wander, but now he had a conclusion to come back to and convince himself of.

Keith whimpered louder in his sleep and rolled over. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro could just make out the dark bundle of his blankets. He wanted to turn his head for a better look, but was touched by the irrational fear that Keith would awaken and somehow catch him staring. Plus the pain in his arm was radiating upward now, digging its claws into the nerves in his shoulder and neck and making tears spring to his eyes. He choked back a gasp and tried not to move, even with the paralysis, out of fear of making it worse.

It felt like the worst pins and needles ever, the tingling, pinching feeling running up and down in waves that came too irregularly for him to catch his breath in between. His metal arm couldn’t feel anything but it could somehow feel _this_. It would pass eventually, he knew; it always did. In the meantime, maybe this was a good thing? If it meant that he could feel his arm -- even if the sensations were only in his head -- maybe the nerves were starting to fire correctly and the venom was wearing off. That would make sense because his prosthetic shouldn’t have been affected by the poison anyway; it was just his nervous system that was fully paralyzed.

He wanted to test his idea and flex his fingers, but the pain was still throbbing. Besides, without being able to see, there was no way of knowing if his hand actually moved or if it was just in his imagination.

If only the phantom ache would go away and he could get back to sleep. Objectively, this was the most comfortable he’d been in a long time, and at least in his dreams he was still able to move.

His gaze drifted sideways to Keith again. He was flopped on his side, one arm trailing off the seats-turned-bed, and the blanket had slipped low around his waist. Shiro wanted to get up and pull the blanket back up. He didn’t even need Keith’s company at the moment; he just wanted some way to repay him.

Keith’s bitter words from early that afternoon still chased their tails around in his head. It was all wrong. Keith _did_ deserve to be a leader; apparently he was the only one who couldn’t see his own worth. Shiro wanted to tell him. But at the time his words had been turned into helpless sighs and his own body had betrayed him, clogging his throat and turning his tongue to stone.

Shiro returned his eyes to the ceiling. Eventually he would get his mobility back and there would be a lot he needed to set right. But his mind was blank as he tried to come up with a way to show Keith how he felt. The other paladin wouldn’t listen to words, and Shiro’s only other thought currently was to wrap him up in a bone-crushing hug.

He wanted so badly to be able to feel. He promised himself to never take touch for granted again. All he wanted was to feel Keith’s fire-warm presence against him and never let go.

Stupid and sentimental, he knew.

But if he couldn’t do anything else, there was no harm in indulging himself. No one would know. So he closed his eyes again and recalled the way Keith’s hands had caressed his face like he was actually worth something, the way he’d stopped, shellshocked, when Shiro had touched his lips to his wrist. Maybe it had been only surprise on his face, but Shiro convinced himself that it was incredulous hope, and he went back to sleep with that thought crystallized in his mind.

\--

Shiro blinked his eyes open in the gray, misty light of predawn. The shuttle’s interior lights were still off, in power saving mode, and the cockpit windows didn’t let in much outside light. Everything was so still and calm and he let his head nestle deeper into the pillow, savoring the relaxation and the last remaining traces of his dreams. For once they’d been pleasant, even if they’d already faded from his mind, and all he wanted was to doze off again into this warm, quiet feeling.

His nose itched and he tried to raise his hand to scratch it, but... nothing. What had he really expected?

The phantom pains had faded and now there wasn’t any indication that his arms were even there at all. He thrashed his head back and forth on the pillow but that was the limit of his motion. Unbidden, his eyes blurred and he closed them tightly before the tears could fully form. That would be the ultimate humiliation, if Keith had to wipe tear tracks from his cheeks while they both pretended ignorance.

Instead, Shiro turned his face to the wall and opened his mouth, soundless breaths quavering over his lips. This wasn’t fair, he thought to himself, as he squeezed his eyes harder shut until starbursts sparked behind his lids. No one deserved this. What had he ever done --?

A quiet whine he couldn’t stifle in time broke out of his throat and shocked him into stillness. At first his ears strained to hear any sounds of Keith waking up, but there was no movement from the other paladin. Shiro closed his mouth and concentrated on his vocal cords until finally he coaxed out another high-pitched sound.

Keith was still asleep so Shiro tried again. His mouth moved the way he directed it; it felt like he’d been released from shackles as he licked his lips and let sounds roll across his tongue. Keith’s name was the first thing that came to mind and he tried it out, the harsh beginning consonant deep in his throat, the way his lips pulled back for the vowels, the light touch of tongue to teeth for the final sound.

The name came out noiselessly hoarse but there, lingering in the morning atmosphere like a star.

Shiro smiled, filled with pride. This thing could be beaten, he could make it. There was hope yet.

He closed his eyes again and ran his tongue along his teeth. Star lists came to mind, a study guide that he’d grown accustomed to repeating over and over for numerous exams. If he imagined hard enough, he could believe he was back in his bunk at the Garrison, working off a case of sleep paralysis the morning of a test.

The words were so quiet as to be barely there. “Alpha Orionis, Betelgeuse. Beta Orionis, Rigel. Gamma Orionis...”

Keith murmured something groggily, then sneezed.

“Ugh.” He sat up, eyes still closed, and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers caught on the tangled strands and he dropped his hand back to his side. “Morning.”

Shiro hesitated for a moment, not sure that this wasn’t all a dream. “Good... good morning.” The words came out stronger than he’d dared hope, sounding almost like his ordinary voice instead of strained with effort.

There was a moment of silence, which prompted Shiro to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of Keith. The younger man was drifting back toward his pillow, hair falling lank over his sleep-crusted eyes. His arms collapsed under him and he landed face-first into the rolled up blanket serving as his pillow.

“Gimme five more minutes.”

But the instant after that, his whole body jumped like he’d been electrocuted. He launched himself from the bed faster than his feet could keep up, half tangled in blankets, and caught himself on hands and knees next to Shiro’s makeshift bed. Keith pulled himself up into a kneeling position, eyes now fully wide awake as they scanned the older man’s face.

“You said good morning?”

Shiro nodded mutely, grinning so hard he thought his face would crack.

“You said good morning!”

Next thing Shiro knew, lean arms were around him and he was being pulled partly off the bed by an exuberant hug. Keith’s face was pressed against his neck and Shiro revelled in the way dark hair tickled his skin, the feeling of human warmth so close to him. Slowly came the realization that Keith was shaking, voice hiccuping, and Shiro moved his lips numbly for a stuttering moment.

“Thank you, Keith.”

The younger man pulled him closer at that and Shiro wished he could feel more. What did Keith’s arms feel like; what did his heartbeat feel like when it was pressed so close to Shiro’s own? He turned his head against Keith’s and nuzzled against his ear. He didn’t think Keith would mind, and if he did, Shiro had the excuse that there weren’t a lot of options right now to show his happiness.

But Keith didn’t pull back for many long minutes. Shiro was almost asleep again in his hold, comfortable and safe. His throat hurt with holding back all the words that he now had the means to say, but lacked the courage for. _Thank you_ didn’t seem to suffice but it would have to do, and he muttered it again and again as Keith’s arms tightened at every repetition.

Finally Keith drew back. Shiro had thought he’d felt tears against his neck but he hadn’t been sure; a quick glance confirmed it, and his eyes locked with Keith’s for a moment.

“I’m so glad,” the Red Paladin whispered, ducking his head. The dim light concealed his actions as he brought a hand up to his face.

“Me too,” Shiro said. But even that little bit of talking had been enough to wear him out, and his neck muscles burned from where he was holding his head up.

Keith’s arms sagged and he leaned forward to lay Shiro on the pillows again. His touch still held the tenderness from the night before, care evident in the way he settled Shiro down and swiped his thumb over his forehead, clearing his forelock aside. Maybe it was just the older man’s desires coloring his mind, but Shiro could have sworn that Keith looked like he was about to kiss his forehead.

Just wishful thinking, he chided himself. Of course Keith would never.

But Shiro decided to hang that hope in the far back corner of his mind, just in case.

“I should probably see about breakfast,” Keith said, pulling back to sit on his feet. He blinked sleepily and leaned forward so his chin rested on the edge of the cushions right next to Shiro’s shoulder. “Then I’ve got to come up with a way to get us out of there, that doesn’t involve flying a damaged ship or calling the Galra.”

Shiro gave a mental shrug before remembering that he could speak now. “We’ll think of something. Or since this poison is wearing off, we could wait as long as necessary for Allura to send a rescue.”

“I’d rather not. The sooner we can get you to medical care --”

“I know.” Shiro cut him off, anxious to forestall any arguments like last night. He just wanted to be happy in having his voice back; he didn’t have the stamina or heart for a fight right now. “Go get yourself some breakfast.” Glancing up at the almost-empty IV bag, he chuckled wryly. “And maybe something for me, too.”

Keith’s mouth twitched upward. “I’ll see what I can find.” With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and untangled the blanket from around his legs, dumping it in a pile on his bed as he headed to the rear cabinets of the shuttle.

As it turned out, breakfast for Keith was a mouthful of water and a carefully-measured third of a ration pack. Shiro kept silent even as he watched Keith lick his fingers clean for any crumbs he might have missed. It was clear that they couldn’t stay here much longer and wait for a rescue; this wasn’t going to be viable for more than a day or two.

“I was thinking,” Keith started. He folded the wrapper over the block of concentrated food and set it aside for later. “This planet is inhabited; that’s why the Galra were patrolling here in the first place, to collect tribute from the natives. There’s enough power left in the shuttle for me to do a long-range scan and see if there’s any kind of settlement nearby.”

Shiro felt his face pulling into a frown and tried to not look immediately skeptical. “A city would probably be a good day’s journey from here. I know you could make it under ordinary circumstances, but with the dragon still out there -- and who knows what other wildlife -- I’m worried.”

“Me too. If anything happens to me, you’ll be...” He swallowed and looked down. Shiro didn’t want to consider that possibility; he was too completely reliant on Keith right now.

Keith continued, “There’s a motorcycle-looking thing I found in the engine room. It’s in pretty bad disrepair, but I think I could fix it.”

“A motorcycle?” Shiro’s tone was incredulous.

“It’s heavy-duty. Probably made for scouting planets, if the previous owner of this flying scrapheap thought it was worth hauling around. What’s more, it can seat two.”

“You’re going to chaperon my ass out to wherever the nearest city is?”

“Something like that.” Keith shrugged before letting his shoulders collapse inward. He looked small, sitting with his head bowed on the opposite bunk. In the gray light, he looked far younger than he actually was.

“Hm.” Shiro set his eyes on the ceiling again. At least Keith had a plan that sounded halfway feasible. Shiro had no doubt that with his piloting skills, there was no dragon alive that could keep up with him.

Also, there was the foregone conclusion in Shiro’s mind that he himself would be staying behind, but he decided to keep that silent for now.

“So this bike -- can I see it?”

Keith visibly perked up. “If I can pry it from the rusty fingers of time.” He headed toward the back of the shuttle, then stopped and came back, wiping his hands on his thighs. “Want me to sit you up?”

Shiro’s head lurched as he tried to pull himself up but only his neck muscles responded. “Please.”

It took some wrestling with his body, but eventually Shiro was in a sitting position on the seats. Keith leaned him back carefully, adding the pillow as a neck rest, and awkwardly dropped Shiro’s hands to rest at his sides.

“Thanks.”

Keith huffed a reply and pulled the blanket over his lap.

“Is it really that cold in here?”

“No, but...” He shrugged. “You look more like _you_ this way.”

Shiro looked down, careful not to overbalance himself; if his head fell too far forward, he wasn’t sure he had the control to raise it again. His legs were propped up, knees knocked together to keep them from slipping to the side. His hands looked dead, loose fists that conveyed no emotion.

“Yeah, I think I prefer the blanket, too.”

Pulling it up a little higher, Keith touched him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that he couldn’t feel. “I’ll be right back.”

Shiro watched him slip through the door to the engine compartment. Keith could handle himself. Without Shiro’s weight to throw the motorcycle off balance, he would be able to pay more attention to the sky. Shiro wanted to tell Keith that, wanted to discuss the plan like adults, but he liked this companionable atmosphere too much. As he’d noticed last evening in the argument over the distress call, the less he talked, the happier everyone seemed to be.

He just wished he could discern the cause. Was it his words? Was he coming across too blunt, trying to tell the truth as he saw it? Or did Keith simply like him better when he couldn’t talk, when he wasn’t all there?

That didn’t sit well. It also wasn’t a good omen for their future plans together, if Shiro couldn’t criticize Keith’s plans. He couldn’t imagine when things had changed -- Keith had always followed his lead, even going so far as to ask Shiro’s opinion of situations that Keith could have handled on his own. And outside of their paladin armor, their relationship had always been warm and open. This prickly shell of Keith’s was completely new.

“Here she is! Red Mk. Two,” Keith said, wheeling a squeaking metal frame over the doorstep and into the back of the cabin. Both wheels were in place and the red-painted body seemed to be unbent, but the engine and workings of the bike were missing. Shiro looked it over with a critical eye.

“Are you sure there’re enough parts back there to fix it?”

“Yeah. The engine was beside it, apparently being worked on, but I should be able to put it back in. All the little parts are scattered around so it’s something of a jigsaw, but I have faith.”

Eyes raking over the bike again, Shiro smiled. It was just the kind of thing Keith needed to keep himself happy and focused. “Looks like you need to get to work.”

Keith leaned the bike against the outside door and ducked back into the compartment for a bucket of wires and circuit boards. “I really only need a starter and an engine, and maybe a headlight.” He sat down on the floor at Shiro’s feet, spread a blanket on the floor, and dumped out the spare parts. “Good thing I passed my welding class.”

Leaning forward as far as he dared, Shiro glanced over the metal entrails. Somehow they had to build a bike out of all this? Challenge accepted.

“Go for the brakes first,” he directed, watching with keen eyes as Keith’s hands followed his orders. “You’ll need to wire them to the handlebars first, then...”

\--

Sweat was trailing down the side of Keith’s face and he distractedly wiped at it with his cuff. Shiro shot a glance at the cockpit, where the double suns had risen far enough to shine their rays directly inside, and the temperature had risen unnoticed over the last several hours.

“Take a break,” he prompted.

Keith grunted in reply, then hissed when his hands slipped as he was bending a piece of wire and it snapped back, drawing a thin line of blood across the heel of his palm. “Yeah.” He rubbed at his eyes then stood up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his back. The metal was tossed to the blanket as he strode in search of the canteen, shaking it by his ear before taking two sips.

“I have a full canteen,” Shiro said, pointing with his chin to his gear. “Don’t ration it so much; you’ll have to set up a second IV if you keep it up.”

Thankfully Keith chuckled at that, instead of taking offense like Shiro had feared the moment the words had left his mouth. Even better, he took an extra gulp of water, closing his eyes as he swallowed. Shiro watched, telling himself it was only to make sure that Keith was taking care of himself. His eyes lingered on a single drop that escaped Keith’s lips and ran down his chin, down his throat, leaving a glistening trail.

It was Shiro’s turn to swallow and look away when Keith set the canteen down and turn his back, unaware, to rummage through the backpack for any extra supplies.

“I’ll wait till closer to night, but I think I’ll try hunting something,” Keith said, coming back to sit down next to Shiro. He wasn’t paying attention and his hand landed on the edge of the blanket that covered Shiro’s lap. “I mean, there’s got to be some kind of smaller wildlife on this planet, right? I just need to find something to use as bait, and rig up a slingshot.”

He glanced up and Shiro couldn’t look away fast enough, but Keith took his expression for cynicism. “I used to be pretty good with a slingshot. I killed birds with it all the time until my foster parents took it away from me.”

“I don’t doubt your ingenuity,” Shiro answered. “Especially if you’re hungry enough.”

As if on cue, Keith’s stomach rumbled. “You’re right about that. Thank goodness I’m not desperate enough to start eating lizards.”

Shiro started to laugh at that but stopped abruptly. There had most likely been a time, during that Missing Year, when Keith _had_ been that desperate, out in the wild by himself. Shiro had noticed it from the start, when he’d first woken up, that Keith was a lot slimmer than he had been in the Garrison. More muscle, maybe, but less flesh to smooth out his edges. It made his hands mesmerizing to watch, the sharp bones around his knuckles moving in and out of the light, but it wasn’t right.

It was too much of a reminder that he’d changed from the easy lifestyle of a star-destined cadet, to a runaway, to a galactic warrior.

Even now his hands were busy again, fitting together metal pipes and the broken handle of a wrench into a weapon, a sturdy Y-shape forming in his lap as he added piece after piece to the slingshot.

“Nice,” Shiro said, forcing the word out before his throat closed completely. They were all warriors now. Might as well get used to it.

“Just hope that all the animals on this planet aren’t poisonous,” Keith started to say, humor in his voice, then paused. He frowned and his hands twitched nervously. “Um.”

“Jinx?” Shiro said, watching as Keith looked consideringly at the metal in his hands.

“I’m hungry. And at least I know the paralysis won’t kill me.” Keith finished the slingshot and set it aside with finality. “There’ll be more animals around when it gets cooler tonight, assuming they behave anything like Earth creatures. In the meantime, I’ll power up the ship and see if I can find a city on the scanners. That’ll give us a definite destination to work toward.”

He rose and headed to the cockpit, leaving Shiro to look after him with worried eyes. He wanted to tell Keith to be careful, but that was already a given. Some things didn’t need to be said and Shiro bit his tongue, reminding himself that nothing was worth risking whatever truce they currently had. He only wanted the touch of Keith’s hands gentle on his face again, not brusque dismissal or the cold shoulder.

Keith stayed up in the cockpit, powering up different systems and muttering to himself as the power surged and shorted. Eventually Shiro’s eyes started drooping where he sat. The longer days on this planet were hard to adjust to, and Shiro got the distinct feeling that it was dinner time on the Castle, even though here it was only a little past noon. It didn’t help that the boredom was coming back, accompanied by the feelings of helplessness -- if only he could move, this bike would be put together twice as fast. If only he could move, he wouldn’t have to worry about the inevitable conflict with Keith when he revealed that he had no intention of going to the city.

He bowed his head and drowsed until fingers tapped on the side of his head.

“Want me to lay you down?” Keith had a notebook in hand, the visible page full of scribbled numbers and diagrams. A map to the city. Good.

“If you don’t mind,” Shiro said. He felt the way a cat did, wanting in and then out of a door -- only he wanted to be up and down, any time when he’d have an excuse for touch. A world without stimuli was incredibly flat, he was coming to realize, and his whole body was so attuned to any sensation that he jumped when Keith rearranged the IV line and it brushed past the side of his face.

Keith bent to move the blanket from his lap and Shiro stayed resolutely facing forward even though their faces were inches apart. _If Keith doesn’t mind then I don’t either._ But he held his breath in case it stuttered. With a grunt, Keith hooked his arm under Shiro’s knees and lifted so his legs were propped up on the cushions.

Shiro couldn’t stop a quiet yelp as he fell sideways but Keith was already there with a steady arm around his shoulders to ease him down slowly. Shiro bit his tongue instead of saying anything, even though the words felt like they would burn his mouth if they stayed trapped inside any longer. The thing was, he didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

His mind was a mess, too many emotions spinning out. It was easier to remain silent than try to sort out which one should get precedence.

Like before, Keith took special care when laying his head down, smoothing the pillow roll and settling Shiro down.

“Comfy?” he asked, left hand moving to Shiro’s shoulder while his right lingered by his ear, picking at unravelling threads.

Shiro hummed and turned his head, finding Keith’s wrist well within his reach this time. “Thank you,” he murmured, then touched his lips lightly to the delicate skin.

Keith’s breath caught above him, a quavering silence followed by a rush as Shiro’s mouth withdrew. The Red Paladin tried to cover it up with a grumbled, “You’re welcome,” but Shiro heard it anyway.

But what exactly did it mean?

Shiro burrowed the back of his head deeper into the pillow and closed his eyes, feigning exhaustion. Keith hesitated a moment more by his side, then at last he felt the younger’s presence move away, back to working on the bike pieces on the floor.

He allowed himself a faint smile. At this point, he was willing to take any silver lining he could get, no matter how tenuous.


	6. Seek Till You Find It

“Hey, Shiro?”

The Black Paladin startled awake in the darkness. _Dark? Already?_ Trying to sit up yielded nothing and he let his head fall back to the pillow.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” Shiro licked his lips and let his eyes adjust. On the bright side, he’d survived another day without having a panic attack. But that was still one more day that they’d been trapped here -- the Castle was still without the necessary components for repair, Keith was under too much pressure, and there was hardly any sign of improvement from the paralysis.

He turned his head to see Keith lying on his side facing him from across the aisle. There was a faint white light from outside, the too-big moon streaming in through the cockpit window, washing out all the colors. Keith’s bare shoulder and bicep were painted alabaster where the blanket had ridden down, showing that he had shed the bulky undersuit to sleep. Shiro tried to let his eyes drift away on their own but the softly-lit curve was entrancing.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” he said as way of distracting himself. “How’d hunting go?”

“I caught a large rabbit... thing. Tasted terrible, but hey, I’m still alive.”

Shiro hmmed and settled back against the pillow. With the longer days on this planet, it would make sense that the daylight cycle would be off enough to mess up their bodies’ sleep rhythm. Which explained why they both were lying awake in the dark, but not what Keith had initially wanted to talk about. He opted to wait patiently, moving his head every once in a while both to keep stretching what muscle control he had, and to let Keith know that he was still awake and listening.

Finally Keith took a deep breath like he was going underwater and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Shiro couldn’t make out the distinction between skin and cloth any more; Keith was all one dark shape, curling in on himself in the moonlight.

“I’m... I’m really sorry, Shiro.”

The older man stopped moving, barely daring to breathe for fear of making too much noise. Keith’s voice sounded so close to tears and he didn’t know what to say.

“I know I’ve been acting different lately and I guess I was trying to put up a strong front. But I’ve been so worried it’s making me sick, and I don’t want it to be this way any more. You’re not a burden; I don’t want you to think that at all. I just want -- I just want some way of knowing that I’m doing the right thing.” Keith bowed his head, the end of his sentence buried in the blanket.

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice was soft, his throat twingeing after the hours of inactivity. “Keith, it’s okay. I don’t blame you for anything. Of all people, I know how hard it is to have responsibility forced on you, and honestly I’m glad that a few outbursts is the worst that happened. You’ve been doing so well. If I’d ever had any doubts in you, they’re all gone now.”

“But see, that’s exactly what I _don’t_ want. I’m still human, I’m going to screw up. Someday I might screw up bad enough and someone will die.”

Shiro shook his head even though Keith wasn’t looking at him any more. “We’re all human. No one expects miracles.”

“I do.” The quiet accusation stung. It echoed too close to Shiro’s own thoughts on too many occasions, the belief that he _ought_ to be able to save everyone. His brow furrowed; the guilt of that was enough to keep him awake on some nights -- it wasn’t a burden that Keith needed to feel.

“You’re being way too hard on yourself,” Shiro started. It was true, but he didn’t have a closure to that thought. There wasn’t an easy fix for that burden.

Keith was silent for long enough that Shiro started to think he’d fallen asleep again. Then, in a voice so quiet it seemed to be part of the night, “If something happened to you, if you didn’t make it off this planet... neither would I.”

An even longer silence stretched as Shiro failed to find words to answer that. His throat closed up and all he could do was voicelessly stammer Keith’s name several times. He’d known, in a way, of Keith’s loyalty, but this -- the words had torn out of Keith, sounding like they left a bloody hole in his chest. This wasn’t to be taken lightly.

Shiro’s pulse pounded in his ears, reminding him that as long as he was alive, Keith would be right there with him. He pursed his lips, trying to find the right angle to explain. “Remember the Blade trials?”

There was only more quiet breathing from Keith, suspicious silence as he tried to figure out the change in topic.

Shiro watched the Red Paladin’s side rise and fall, and soothed himself with the steady rhythm. “I thought they were going to kill you. When they came out in full armor and all you had was a knife. And there wasn’t anything I could have done; I was under guard and they wouldn’t let me leave, wouldn’t call it off.”

“But the trials were never about killing me. They only wanted to see how willing I was to fight for myself.”

“I didn’t know that.” Shiro swallowed, the words weighing in his throat like stones. “I thought I would have to carry your body back to the Castle. I was terrified that I would watch you die and be completely powerless to help. It’s part of being a leader, that you’re always scared.”

“It’s part of _caring_ , that makes you always scared.” Keith’s voice was raw and Shiro said his name like a reflex, wanting to comfort him. But his voice did nothing and he was still immobile, too many feet away to matter. He closed his eyes and imagined the way he would roll over, reach out and rest a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Feel the warmth of the other and give some of his own in return, a wordless way that they’d always had, silent acceptance and support that always left Shiro’s heart beating painfully hard against his ribs.

But the night stayed motionless and there were no more words from Keith. At last he rolled over and drew the blanket up, pretending to be asleep but betrayed by his uneven inhales. Shiro didn’t dare break the silence, too heartsore, mouthing Keith’s parting words over and over again to himself, wondering just how many layers of meaning he was supposed to take from them.

In the end, he was simply happy that they’d made up, and he let the worry lines relax from his face as he fell asleep. Morning rose many hours later and Keith was quick to smile at Shiro’s “good morning” and it was as if the last couple of days hadn’t happened. And if Shiro said _thank you_ a bit more sincerely, and smiled more easily and more softly, Keith only replied in kind and didn’t comment. His hand still lingered by Shiro’s face when he propped him up for the day, and Shiro’s entire being yearned to see more of the wistful expression plain on Keith’s face after the wrist kiss.

\--

“I’m pretty much done with the smaller parts of the bike,” Keith said around mouthfuls of flash-cooked meat. He was sitting on the opposite bunk, eating a breakfast of leftovers from the night before. “Now I’ve got to lift the engine block onto the frame again and hope it all wires up correctly.”

“Is there any machinery back there to help you? I imagine the engine is pretty big and solid.”

“I’m strong.” Keith shrugged, and then smirked in an expression that Shiro hadn’t realized how much he missed. “I’ve got to be, if I want to haul you all the way to the city.”

“Ha ha. Maybe I should put on a few more pounds just to spite you.”

It was a joy to see Keith laugh again, even over a stupid joke, even when it still sounded just a tinge forced. Their situation was still dire but at least the oppressive atmosphere seemed to have cleared, and Shiro felt more alert and alive because of it.

Keith cleared away his eating utensils and wiped his knife off on an extra cloth before sliding it into the back of his belt. His glance was calculating. “I don’t suppose you can feel anything more?”

“No.” Shiro wanted to shrug it off but had to settle for tilting his head slightly. “It’ll probably take a while.”

“Do you think more blood flow would help?” Keith started to stand up but hesitated, watching Shiro’s reaction. “Like if I...” The rest of his sentence was lost in a mumble.

Doing his best to keep his smile small, Shiro watched as Keith knotted his fingers together until the knuckles were white. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I -- Okay.” The Red Paladin took a seat next to Shiro and picked up his left hand in both of his, careful of the IV line attached to the crook of Shiro’s elbow. “Tell me if you can feel anything.”

Shiro felt his eyelids slipping closed, not out of tiredness but because he felt _safe_. It was hard to resist the temptation to rest his head against Keith’s. Luckily the younger man’s focus was entirely on his hands, on the way his fingers were moving smoothly over Shiro’s knuckles, massaging harder against his palm, tracing the delicate blue veins of his wrist.

“Your hands are cold,” Keith said, switching to cupping Shiro’s loose fist.

Shiro hummed and forced his eyes all the way open. “Considering we’re camped out on a tropical world, that’s a little odd.”

Pressing his palm to the back of Shiro’s hand, Keith laced his fingers through motionless ones. “It could be lack of circulation, which could also be why the poison is lasting so long.”

“Too bad I can’t just walk it off.”

Keith bumped his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder before remembering himself and sitting more upright. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Of course.” He put as much conviction into his tone as he could muster. “Between your hunting skills and the bike, I think things are looking up.”

“I calculated the route to the nearest city, and it looks like it’ll be a long ride, but manageable. I’ll siphon the fuel out of the shuttle’s tanks and it should be more than enough to get us there.”

“How’s the terrain?”

“Mostly open plains, unfortunately. But with you to keep eyes on the sky, it should be pretty safe. The city itself is in a range of hills west of here. It looks to be fairly sizeable and the scanners picked up some EM fields, so they might have a way to contact the Castle.”

Shiro frowned. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to alert the Galra to our presence here. We could get these people in trouble if the Empire finds out they’ve been helping us.”

“We’ll send a message in code. Or something.”

Nodding, Shiro relaxed again. His mind was already running through the various ways to encode the message; it was easier to think about that instead of lingering on how close Keith was beside him, if only he could have felt it. It was easier to sit together when they were talking about mundane stuff -- it felt more natural, less like their proximity was a big deal. Shiro let his neck droop, chin almost resting on his chest so he could watch Keith’s hands out of the corner of his eye.

It was best to just sit and let Keith work. Shiro tried to pretend that he wanted his hands to stay frozen, so he wouldn’t think about moving them. It was like pushing against a rock wall in his mind, the way he slammed all his self control against the barrier of his paralyzed muscles. Nothing would move, nothing would feel, and it was better not to try.

“I bet Hunk and Pidge are already done with the other repairs by now,” Keith said, breaking Shiro out of his thoughts. “They’re going to be mad we’re holding up work.”

“I kind of think they’re more worried about us right now.”

“Still, we’re slowing down the fight.”

Shiro did his best to convey a shrug. “We’re doing the best we can.”

Reaching across Shiro, Keith picked up his right hand and clenched a fist around the metal fingers. “I... I would say that I’m not doing enough, but you’re right. It’s dumb to expect miracles.” He loosened his grip and ran a thumb along the seam of two metal plates.

Shiro stared breathlessly down at his hand, then glanced up to where Keith was still talking. He could feel. He could _feel_! Expression numb, all he could concentrate on was the gentle pressure of Keith’s hand in his own. He could feel as Keith’s fingers traced the grooves of his joints, the warmth of his skin radiating into the prosthetic and dancing off of whatever served as nerves.

“-- shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, I don’t see why the natives wouldn’t help us.” Keith was still talking, unaware of the tears growing in the corners of Shiro’s eyes. His own gaze was focused restlessly out the cockpit window, watching the wind blow through the trees on the distant horizon.

Shiro looked down at where their hands were joined, and bent all his willpower to grasping Keith’s hand. But even though some sensation had returned, all his efforts failed and the Red Paladin eventually withdrew his hands and crossed his arms. Shiro blinked and a single droplet ran out of one eye before he could stop it, and he dropped his head to Keith’s shoulder to hide his weakness.

Luckily the other man took it as a sign of comfort, and reached up to graze his fingers along the stubbly undercut. “It’s too early to be tired,” Keith said, even as he tilted his head enough to rest against Shiro’s. “I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’m really hoping to get the bike up and running, and be at the city by morning.”

Reluctantly Shiro raised his head so Keith could stand up. “You’re a real slave driver, aren’t you?”

“I’ll try to remember to take breaks.”

“Set up a clock where I can see it, and I’ll be the voice of reason for you.” Shiro was glad that they had slipped back into friendly conversation so easily. It meant that Keith was less likely to look at him and notice the still-wet tear track, and likewise it saved Shiro himself from having a reason to look too closely at Keith.

Even though he couldn’t move, the heat of Keith’s presence still lingered in his metal hand, a burning realization of just how close they’d been. Shiro ran his tongue around and around inside his mouth, the only outlet he had for all this nervous energy. As much as he was glad that Keith was busy now, rifling through his gear with his back turned, Shiro was already missing his company so badly.

It didn’t matter that his body wouldn’t respond; his mind craved that comfort of knowing that someone was close to him and cared for him. It would never happen of course, but he could dream.

“Here’s a timer. Let me know when it’s been a couple hours and I’ll come check on you.” Keith propped a small device upright against the seats. “Anything you need before I go bury myself in mechanical hell?”

Shiro opened his mouth, thought about asking Keith to lay him down, but stopped himself. It would be too obvious that he wasn’t planning on sleeping, and even the allure of the chance to kiss Keith’s wrist again wasn’t worth the concerned questions. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” This time Keith was the one to hesitate, shifting his weight before he leaned forward and needlessly adjusted the edge of the blanket on the other’s lap.

“Well, I mean...” Shiro started to speak and Keith looked up, their faces inches apart. Shiro swallowed and drew back, and Keith jerked away with a sudden inhale. “I was just going to say, if we wear our helmets we can talk to pass the time.”

“Good idea.” Keith turned away quickly, heading to the pile of armor by the door, but Shiro caught a glimpse of red cheeks. Embarrassment? Surprise? Or...? He bit his lip and looked down, holding his breath until the black helmet was snug on his head and partially obscured his expression. Shiro had no doubt that his own cheeks were blushing too, and he just hoped that Keith interpreted it however he was most comfortable with.

Maybe he was blowing everything out of proportion. Because despite Keith’s initial reaction, he didn’t say anything as he switched on the comms and headed for the engine bulkhead, although he did pause with one foot over the doorstep.

“Keep an eye on the time,” he said in a surprisingly steady voice, but he was grinning lopsidedly and Shiro couldn’t miss the long glance he shot backward. Their eyes met and Keith ducked his head, disappearing out of sight into the rear compartment.

Shiro smiled at the far wall and closed his eyes, leaning back against the headrest. In his ear the comm crackled with faint static but stayed silent; he would give Keith a few minutes to collect himself before trying for conversation. He needed a few minutes _himself_ , to be honest.

And to top it all off, Keith’s words from the night before kept running around in his head again, the rough sincerity of it rubbing his heart raw. _It’s part of caring_. Caring -- his emphasis on that word was intriguing. But all the speculation in the world wouldn’t yield any conclusions, and Shiro gave up, simply hoping for the best.

\--

It turned out that Keith didn’t talk much as he worked, mind too focused on the task at hand, but he did hum. Softly, to himself, like he’d forgotten the comm was there at all. The melody was one that Shiro didn’t recognize, but he let its even tempo lull him as he watched the numerals tick past on the timer.

His right hand had gone back to being lifeless in his lap. All effort to move it was in vain, and there wasn’t enough stimulation to tell if the synthetic nerves were working again or not. He wondered if the feeling earlier had been all in his mind, his imagination desperate enough to give him false hope. That was why he hadn’t said anything to Keith, even though he’d wanted so badly to give him good news. There was no point getting his hopes up. Later, if Keith took a break, Shiro might as for him to massage his hands again, _just in case_ , just to satisfy his mind.

The sound of Keith’s chuckle rumbled through the comm.

“What?” Shiro glanced toward the door but it was only half-open and Keith was too far inside to be seen.

“This bike is ugly. I mean, really really hideous.”

“Good thing it’s not for the local motor show.”

Keith made a sound of agreement. “The engine doesn’t fit the body. I guess it came from a different bike altogether -- I’ll be able to wire it up no problem, but I’m having to cut away some of the frame to make room.” The grating noise of a hacksaw punctuated his sentence. “I’m embarrassed to put my name to this.”

“If it can get us all the way to the city, it’ll be the most beautiful thing in existence,” Shiro said.

“It will.” His voice was full of conviction. “Now lemme just...” Keith trailed off, the clanking of tools coming from the engine room as he lapsed back into concentration.

Shiro stayed quiet, second guessing himself. Maybe he should consider letting Keith haul him to the city? If his arm really was starting to come back, then there was still hope. He wouldn’t survive long by himself -- Keith had said the city was about twelve hours away, and assuming he got help immediately and came straight back, that was a whole day of solitude. The IV would keep him alive that long, but the silence and loneliness?

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus. Especially after the talk last night... There was no way Keith would willingly leave him behind. And even if he agreed to it under duress, was it really worth risking their friendship? If Keith said he could get them to the city, he was going to do it or die trying. Surely Shiro could scrape together enough faith to believe in him that much.

It was a heavy burden, but one that Keith seemed willing to take. It was a far better option than the inevitable argument, leaving Shiro alone in the shuttle while Keith stormed out with tears in his eyes, leaving Shiro alone with the knowledge that Keith was blaming himself and worrying to death on the way to the city.

“Keith?”

The sounds of work abruptly stopped, and instead of answering over the comm, Keith appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

Shiro gave him a smile. “You’re doing great. Time for a break.”

Glancing at the timer, Keith stepped into the forward compartment and flopped down next to Shiro without hesitation. “You’re lying.”

“Am not.” Shiro pouted. “I can’t help it I get bored.”

Keith breathed out through his teeth. “Tell me about Japan.”

“I -- What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Tell me your favorite things. What places do you miss, what’s your favorite holiday, that sort of stuff.” Keith stood up and reached for the mostly-empty canteen, draining it and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I don’t mind you talking to me. Just because I’m too single minded to hold a conversation doesn’t mean that I don’t like listening to you.”

“Fair enough.” Shiro leaned his head forward and Keith ran his fingers along the crown of the helmet as he headed back to work.

It made sense that Keith would enjoy the sound of Shiro’s voice as much as vice versa. Once again the doubt came up -- was Keith suggesting this as a way to pass the time, or something more? Shiro supposed that he would find the answer to that sooner or later, and in the meantime Keith’s silence was expectant. Besides, it felt good to think of home, to sink himself into memories when he had two arms and no scars and was still so heartbreakingly starry-eyed about the future.

Eventually Shiro ran out of stories to tell, the breaks in his voice coming more frequently and more noticeably, and Keith turned the conversation to idle chatter. The hours passed faster than Shiro had thought they would, as the gossip was occasionally mixed with more humming from Keith. Every once in a while the Red Paladin would find a song that they both knew and Shiro would try to hum along -- more to encourage Keith to be louder than as a demonstration of his own musical talent. It was nice to hear Keith’s voice so close to him, the tremors echoing from his throat directly into Shiro’s ears. It felt like he was right there.

Shiro turned his head so he could watch the first traces of dusk clouding the horizon. The helmet nestled against his head, and with it, Keith’s friendly presence.

“Do you think you’ll finish that tonight?”

Keith grunted. Over the last couple of hours he’d sounded more and more tired, responding in monosyllables or not at all, although Shiro had kept giving him encouragement from time to time.

“It’s okay if you don’t. No sense pushing yourself too far.”

“Nah, I’ve almost got it.” Shiro frowned in sympathy at the exhaustion in his voice. “There’s a few more wires to weld and then I’ll be ready for a test drive.”

“You haven’t looked out a window lately, because it’s getting too late to go on a drive.” In the orange-tinted sky, dark shapes were flitting around like bats. It was hard to judge their distance or size, but Shiro didn’t want to let Keith risk it. Just because the dragon had snatched him up in broad daylight didn’t mean there weren’t nocturnal species as well.

“Already?” Keith didn’t wait for an answer as there was the more metal clattering from the engine room, then a click as he turned off the light.

“You’ve been at it all day,” Shiro said, looking up as the younger man dragged his feet over the raised doorstep, almost stumbling and catching himself on the wall. “That’s going to be the most well built bike this side of the Garrison by the time you’re done.”

“It needs to be.” Keith dropped a handful of tools by his backpack, kicking them out of the walkway, before staggering forward and throwing himself dramatically face-first on his bunk. “I never want to look at a hoverbike again.”

“That’s quitter’s talk.”

Keith grumbled something and pressed his face into the blanket before rolling over and staring up at the ceiling, one arm flung wide and trailing off the edge of the seats. “I really want a shower.”

Shiro made a noncommittal noise and tried not to look too squeamish. “That makes two of us.”

“If this goes on much longer, I’m going to have to trek to the lake nearby. Have to decide which is worse: getting eaten by alien alligators, or smelling like Tarzan for a week.”

It would have been easier to laugh if it hadn’t been true. Although Keith had propped the side door open a few inches, the air inside the shuttle was stuffy and not terribly pleasant. The fresh breeze almost made it worse because now the difference was noticeable and they’d both taken to breathing through their mouths for the most part.

Keith lay motionless on the bed for a few more minutes, looking on the verge of sleep, when he finally pulled himself to his feet with a groan. “Looks like your IV needs changing,” he said, heading to the first aid kit. “This is the last one.”

“Good thing we’re getting out of here.” Shiro waited patiently while Keith changed out the bag and made sure the line was free of twists. With gentle hands, he removed Shiro’s helmet and set it aside, then used his fingers to rake the white forelock back into place. Keith let his hand fall to his side with a sigh, glancing outside at where the first sun was barely touching the horizon; there was still close to an hour of daylight left before both of them set.

“I’m going to go ahead and lay you down if that’s okay. Then I’m gonna crash and not wake up for eight hours or more. Sound good?”

“Sure. You deserve it.”

Keith’s hands were gentle as always, swinging Shiro’s legs up onto the bunk while easing his shoulders down, his head nestled safely in the crook of Keith’s elbow. There wasn’t even a bump as Shiro’s head was placed on the pillow and he looked up, catching eyes with Keith. Giving him a tired smile, the younger man rested his left hand on the pillow, not even giving an excuse for why he was lingering.

True to form, Shiro lowered his eyelids and kissed the other’s wrist briefly.

“Thanks,” Keith muttered, already pulling away and turning longingly toward his own bed.

“Could you... hold my hands again?” Shiro asked quietly.

Keith hesitated but there was a defeated slump to his shoulders. “I’m really tired. Can we do it in the morning?”

“I think it helped. Just for a bit?” Shiro knew that Keith wouldn’t turn him down, but he couldn’t feel bad about using that advantage when the other paladin sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up both hands.

“I don’t see how this can help get the poison out of you,” he said, even as his fingers moved over the ridges of his knuckles.

Shiro held his breath as the nerves in his right hand transmitted the feeling, like an electronic slowly flickering back to life in starbursts of sensation.

“Thank you, Keith,” he said, and poured all his mental strength into closing his prosthetic.

It wasn’t much, and at first he thought it was still only in his mind, but his fingers twitched. They moved just slightly, imperceptibly, squeezing Keith’s hand in a feather-light grip. But it was there, it was _real_ , and they both stopped breathing as they stared at each other.

Keith’s eyebrows tilted up and it looked like he was going to cry, eyes wide as he looked from Shiro’s hand to his face. It was like watching the sun rise, as all exhaustion fell from Keith’s expression at that slightest of touches, and Shiro felt his own eyes blurring.

“Shiro...” Keith breathed his name in a barely-there voice. He bowed his head and pulled Shiro’s hand up to his mouth, laying kisses that Shiro could _feel_ along every inch of his fingers. The rest of Keith’s words were made incoherent by the way he pressed the metal limb to his face, shoulders shaking silently as he hiccuped in air, smiling as tears ran down his cheeks.

Shiro didn’t know what to say, feeling more like a spectator than a participant. If it hadn’t been for the way that Keith was still holding his hand against his face, kissing it between breaths in his exuberance, he might have still had some doubt. But right now, he focused hard enough to move his index finger a quarter inch to the side, intercepting a tear, and all he could think about was how his heart felt like it was laid raw and quivering for Keith to see.

“Maybe I care too much,” he said, the words hovering between them before he could call them back.

“Then I do too,” Keith answered, and closed his eyes. “And I’ll never stop.”


	7. If There is None

By mid-morning, things were officially underway. Shiro had woken to find Keith already back in the engine room, putting the finishing touches to the bike, the faint sounds of his humming coming through the open doorway.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Shiro called, happy that it no longer took a whole lungful of breath to make his voice carry. His recovery was going better than he’d hoped.

“A good mood to be out of here and never look back,” Keith shouted in response. “How are you doing?”

Shiro looked at where his hands were resting atop the blanket, crossed over his stomach. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to move and was rewarded with a mechanical whir as his prosthetic hand contracted. He tried again and while there was no movement from his left hand, his right wrist swiveled and he was able to control enough of his forearm to pull his whole hand up his chest a few inches.

“I’m good,” he said, forgetting that Keith couldn’t hear him without the helmets. “I’m... really good.”

Even if it wasn’t much of an improvement, it still sealed the decision in his mind that he’d been agonizing over. He was definitely going to accompany Keith to the city. It was time to put his fate in someone else’s hands, and honestly there was no one he would trust with it more than Keith.

The Red Paladin appeared in the doorway a moment later with the bike at his side. The frame was still rusty but no longer squeaking, and he’d obviously made some effort to spit-polish the chrome and vivid paint job. While it was obviously not in mint condition, it looked serviceable enough to cover rough ground and get them to the city. Even without looking at the map, even with being mostly in the dark about Keith’s specific plans, Shiro felt a surge of hope.

“Looks nice,” Shiro said, giving him an honest smile.

“Thanks.” Keith nudged a sturdy wedge of metal with his boot, creating a ramp up and over the doorframe as he wheeled the bike farther forward. “I definitely want to do a test ride but I’m confident that we’re almost ready to go.”

Shiro struggled to sit up but only succeeded in shifting his right arm off his chest, to land on the seats with a thump.

“That’s new.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at Keith’s open expression. “Now I’m only, like, ninety-five percent useless.”

“But you boost morale by a hundred, so I think it evens out.” Keith propped the bike up and came to stand next to Shiro’s bed. “Ready to sit up and face the day?”

Shiro nodded and his face softened fondly. “Are you going to keep asking that every time?”

“It’s your body. I’m not going to do anything without asking.”

Shiro froze, suddenly silent as Keith maneuvered him upright and placed the pillow behind his head. Was it not okay that he’d been kissing Keith’s wrist all along, without asking? His thoughts soured inside his chest and he bit his lip. Surely Keith would have pulled away if he didn’t want it?

“Hey.” Keith’s hands touched the sides of his face lightly. “You’re looking down. Is something wrong?”

Realizing he’d hesitated too long and missed the chance when Keith’s hand lingered by his face, he decided to go the route of honesty, and nodded. “I never asked you if you wanted... this.” He shook his head to the side, trying to indicate the space between them. “The way our dynamics are changing.” It was hard not to pause after every word, listening to the pattern of Keith’s breaths to gauge his reaction.

“I don’t think they’re changing per se,” Keith answered finally, slowly. “I think they’re just aligning the way they’re supposed to. I never wanted to distance myself so much, so maybe it’s good that this happened and pulled me back into line. Forced me to open my eyes, I guess.”

“So you’re okay with it?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m really confused. But I’m not unhappy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Keith let one of his hands fall to his side but kept the other against Shiro’s cheek. “Have you ever known me to be subtle?”

Shiro turned his head and buried his forehead against Keith’s palm. “I trust you’d tell me if I make you uncomfortable.”

“And I trust the same from you.” The younger man’s hand slipped down to cradle Shiro’s jaw, tilting his face up so they were eye-to-eye again. “You know me better than anyone, right?”

Expression lightening, Shiro nodded. “I promised I’d always be there for you and I don’t intend to back down now. So go test that bike and let’s get on our way to the city.”

“Yes, sir.” Keith didn’t give anything resembling a salute; it almost looked like he was leaning forward for a split second, his hand still firm on Shiro’s face, but he stopped before his intentions were clear. “I’ll be right back.”

\--

Keith came back into the shuttle ten minutes later with a noticeable bounce in his step. Shiro was expecting him, after hearing the bike’s engine hum in circles around and around before grinding to a stop by the door.

“I’m assuming all went well?”

“Definitely.” There were traces of a smug smile on his face. “It’s _fast_.”

“All the better to evade dragons,” Shiro said. The comment muted the hopeful atmosphere, a dark touch of reality, but even that couldn’t kill the energy thrumming through them both.

Keith walked over to the backpacks and started rummaging through them, setting aside the canteens and the third of a ration that was left. “That risk is a given. But since we know what to look for now, it won’t be able to take us by surprise again.” Gathering up an armload of Shiro’s armor, he set it on the floor by the older man’s feet and took a seat by his side. “Also, this has to be done. Might as well get it over with.”

“Yeah.” Shiro let his right hand clench into a forceless fist and watched as Keith reached for the IV line.

Slowly, Keith worked the length of thin tubing out of his vein and pushed it aside as he held pressure with a finger. He tore open an adhesive bandage with his teeth and pressed it to where a dot of blood was welling up, a spot of bright crimson amid tanned skin and faded scars. Once the bandage was secure, he rolled Shiro’s sleeve down over it, smoothing his hand once over his forearm.

“We’re gonna make it out of here okay. You know that, right?” Keith said. His hand stilled on Shiro’s arm and the older man’s gaze was drawn up to soft dark eyes. “I know worrying is part of life, but it’s going to be okay.”

“You’re still worried, yourself. I can see it.”

“And I think I will be, until we’re both safely back on the Castle. Even then I’ll still be concerned for you but I’ve been living with that worry long enough that I’m used to it.” His gaze dropped. “I just want to know you’re really and truly safe.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t want you thinking that at all.” Shiro wished he could move to take Keith’s hand, but his prosthetic felt too heavy to move that far, and his left hand was still paralyzed.

“I know,” Keith answered, but sounded less than convinced.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro put his chin up and tried to roll his shoulders back. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better. How about helping me into my armor?”

Keith nodded silently and reached for the armload of black and white semiplastic at his feet. “Just so you know,” he began, then hesitated, turning a heavily padded glove over and over in his hands, “I’m...” He shook his head and let out a noisy breath. “I don’t know what I was going to say. Ignore me.”

There wasn’t much Shiro could say at the moment without feeling like he was prying, so he let the subject drop and concentrated on moving his prosthetic hand as best he could, helping as Keith slid the glove over stiff fingers.

The rest of the armor pieces were assembled easily enough, even with Shiro still mostly unable to move. Keith settled the breastplate over his head and shoulders, securing the sides with a click. Shiro breathed in deeply, wanting to feel the steady pressure on his ribcage, a feeling that he had come to associate with safety and dignity, but there was nothing. It felt a little better when his wrist armor was strapped into place; finally, a feeling that he could focus on.

Last came the helmet and Keith set it in his lap, running his fingers over the mostly-healed wound on the side of Shiro’s head. The older man turned his head slowly, giving Keith plenty of time to draw away if he was in fact _only_ checking on the wound, but his hand lingered stubbornly.

Shiro kissed the prominent tendons of Keith’s wrist. This might well be the last time he could, if the paralysis wore off and Keith was never forced to be in such close quarters with him again. As the Red Paladin pulled his wrist back, Shiro leaned forward and touched his lips to Keith’s skin one more time. It was stupid and there was no way he could justify it, but it felt good to be momentarily selfish.

“Thank you,” Shiro whispered, not daring to look up.

“You’re welcome,” Keith said. Before Shiro could wonder if his reply was simply automatic, Keith’s hand rested lightly on the side of his neck where he could feel. “I would have done everything for you anyway, you know. No need for gratitude.”

He picked up the black helmet and took a moment to sweep Shiro’s forelock off to the side, out of his eyes, before lowering the last piece of armor onto his head. Activating the chin piece, Keith clicked on the comms and reached for his own helmet lying on the opposite bunk. “Give me a moment to get suited up myself, then we’re ready to roll.”

“Sounds good!” Shiro replied. His mind was still a mess of emotions, too many conflicting thoughts without easy answers -- or maybe the answers were easy if only he could find it in himself to ask the right questions -- but the energy in the atmosphere was unmistakeable. Whether for better or worse, there was finally a path open before them. Time to step forward and see what the future held.

Keith stepped in front of Shiro, the sunlight gleaming around him and burnishing the edges of his armor with gold. He looked strong and capable, shoulders square and hands planted on his hips. A born leader, a born fighter. Beautiful. Awe-inspiring.

Shiro gave him a giddy grin. Together, they could do this.

“Ready to go?” Keith bent forward, his own eyes alight behind his visor.

“Please,” Shiro said. He was once again surprised when Keith put his shoulder against his chest, lifting the bigger man’s weight with only a quiet grunt. This time at least there was no dragon looming over them, no frantic hurry to get out of the creature’s lair, and Keith went slow and steady as he made his way down the shuttle’s ramp.

Shiro had to close his eyes in the sudden sunlight. Several days of the ship’s flickering fluorescents hadn’t prepared him for the glare from the double suns, but as his visor adjusted it became less painful. The red bike was parked parallel to the shuttle, leaning dangerously heavy on a kickstand made of the shuttle’s control rod. Well, good thing they wouldn’t be needing the ship any more.

“Luckily this thing’s made for two,” Keith said, strain barely apparent in his voice as he came to a stop.

“Or it’s for aliens with really long bodies.” Shiro chuckled as he felt Keith’s full-body shudder. “Maybe spider-people?”

“I think I’m gonna drop you,” Keith deadpanned. He actually let his shoulder start slipping and Shiro’s eyes widened as the ground inched closer.

“Keeeith--”

The Red Paladin took a step forward and eased Shiro down until he slumped face-down across the seat, vision limited to the trampled bluish grass.

“If I didn’t need you for ballast, I might leave you behind.”

“But then who would keep you company?” Shiro tried to raise his head but even with the limited help from his arm he couldn’t move far. “You’ve got to admit I’m better company than no one, right?”

Keith’s arms looped under his armpits and hauled him upright. “Depends. Are you _trying_ to make my life harder?” He leaned back, bracing Shiro’s weight on his hip, and managed to get his leg up and over the bike so he was sitting on it properly.

“I would never.” Even as he said the words, Shiro felt himself slipping and gave a shout as his torso fell bonelessly sideways. Staggering back, Keith had just enough leverage to keep both of them upright until he could rebalance the bike.

Keith’s hand connected with Shiro’s helmet in a light smack. “Don’t forget I knew you in the Garrison. Your middle name is trouble and you can’t deny it.”

“What are you talking about, I only got into trouble because I was always trying to bail you out.”

Keith grunted in reply, momentarily focused on how to get on the bike without letting either it or Shiro fall over. At last he got into position, legs braced wide to augment the wobbling kickstand. Keith reached back for Shiro’s right arm and pulled it around his waist.

“Do you have enough control to hold on?”

Shiro bent his fingers and felt them catch on the hard edge of Keith’s belt. His forearm had some feeling too and he was able to bend it a bit more, squeezing Keith’s ribs and pressing their bodies closer together. “As long as you drive only in a straight line, I think I’ll be okay.” Even with the way they were seated, Keith’s helmet filling most of Shiro’s field of view, his jet pack bulky between them, Shiro felt closer than before. He tightened his arm unapologetically as Keith started the bike and vibrations shook through them both.

Gripping onto the belt tighter, Shiro smiled to himself where his forehead was resting against Keith’s armored collar. It felt so strange knowing that his arm was _supposed_ to be there, and when his fingers slipped and he adjusted his grasp, Keith huffed. “Hold tighter. It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

The engine rumbled louder as Keith shifted quickly through the gears and kicked it forward, one foot stepping lightly on the gas as the other knocked the kickstand to lie flat against the frame. The bike coasted easily for a moment, the exhaust coughing as it worked the months or years of disuse out of the system.

Shiro braced himself against Keith’s back in preparation for the acceleration as the bike picked up speed and the shuttle’s shadow fell away somewhere behind them. Surprisingly there wasn’t much of a wobble to the bike, the metal frame scratched and rusty in places but still solid after its time in storage -- and after whatever magic Keith had worked in the course of repairing it. The wide tires flattened the grass and made for a smooth ride and Keith stayed alert for any bumps or hillocks, swerving around them with practiced ease.

As they settled into a rhythm, Shiro let his neck relax farther until the whole weight of his head was resting on Keith’s shoulder. In response, the smaller man freed one hand from the steering and linked their fingers together, rubbing tenderly over Shiro’s knuckles. It took too much effort to make his own fingers respond in kind, so Shiro settled for giving Keith’s hand a grateful squeeze before relaxing again.

They had a long drive ahead of them and it was already getting hot inside the layers of armor, the twin suns staying at their backs and slowly inching their way overhead over the course of the next many hours. Shiro decided to make the most of it regardless, simply losing himself in Keith’s closeness and the bittersweet knowledge that they would probably never be this way again. Keith’s inhales moved in and out easily, shifting his armor against Shiro’s chest, and his shoulders rose and fell, carrying Shiro’s head with every breath. It was so nice and all Shiro wanted was to stay this way forever -- even if he never got to touch the rest of Keith, just this hand on his belt was enough; even if he never was able to relinquish himself so completely again, just this unspoken trust between them was enough.

It had to be.

He turned his face down, out of the burn of the wind, and let the tears flow unheard over the engine’s roar.

\--

Hours passed by, monotonous and yet too fast all at once. Shiro kept telling himself that he was being sentimental but he couldn’t find it in him to care, not when Keith never had to know the way Shiro breathed in his scent and savored his warmth. Keith had no idea that Shiro’s head on his shoulder was no accident, and Shiro felt guilty and elated for it all the same.

If only he wasn’t such a coward... Shiro tightened his hand on Keith’s belt. But really, he argued with himself, it wasn’t cowardice that kept his throat dead to the words that desperately needed to be said. There was no way they could work together as a team, not with the same careless dynamic as before, if they kept this up. Hell, Keith had already admitted to caring too much, had said that it slowed him down at the worst times. If Shiro added to that burden on his heart, it could impair his function -- _their_ function -- too much.

Better to stay silent and enjoy the small blessings that were cast his way.

Because despite the Red Paladin’s words and actions, Shiro couldn’t be absolutely certain that Keith thought of him the same way he thought of Keith. And all it would take was one wrong word to send them on their separate ways forever. It was safer not to risk it, and keep his desires to himself.

As much as it would be worth it to whisper in Keith’s ear the words that fluttered deep within Shiro’s chest, the aftermath could kill them both.

Shiro tightened his arm against Keith’s chest, snug enough to feel his exhilarated breaths as the bike raced over the plains. The younger paladin didn’t mind; in fact he placed his hand again over Shiro’s, unaware of the way that caused his heart to skip and beat faster.

_It’s better this way. Better this way._

Biting his lip, Shiro repeated that new mantra until he could hear the rhythm of its words in the way the blood pounded in his ears.

The only indication of the time was the way the shadows had at first raced before them, paving their way across the repetitive landscape; then the shadows had been directly under them, and now the suns were on their way toward the western horizon, at the perfect angle to put their rays directly into Keith’s eyes. He had slowed considerably as the terrain became more hilly with outcroppings of exposed rock and the occasional grove of crystalline trees, and they’d stopped several times while he reoriented himself on the map.

“We should be getting close,” he muttered, squinting against the bright orange of pre-sunset. The horizon was a rough silhouette and it was impossible to tell what was natural formations and what could be the city.

“With our luck it’s probably hidden underground,” Shiro said but his voice didn’t carry over the hum of the idling engine. Something caught his peripheral vision and he raised his head, blinking as his helmet recalibrated quickly. Several yards to the right, there was a wide dark patch in the grass, the edges trampled and dusty.

Keith noticed where he was looking and nudged the bike over. As they approached closer, it became clear that the thick grass had hidden a country road, somewhat overgrown with straggly weeds but still clear enough to follow. The bike rolled more smoothly as they coasted down the road barely faster than a walk; Keith pulled up the topographical map on his wrist computer and compared it to the visibly landscape.

“The city’s just around the next few hills,” he said finally, putting the map away and giving the bike speed. “We’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”

“Great.” Shiro eased his weight against Keith again, determined to soak up as much of his presence as he could.

The bike followed the road around the gentle curve of a hill, then Keith had to step harder on the gas to get it up and over the next rise.

As they crested that hill, a wide vista opened before them of cultivated fields spreading like an apron around a walled city. All the buildings were made of some dark material that reflected highlights of gold and orange, the roofs fashioned into curls and spires that twined up into the sky in a glittering spiderweb. Some buildings showed lighted slits of windows, indicating that this culture had some use of electricity, and even as the two paladins watched, the city gates opened and a pair of hovercraft darted out and away, down a different road.

“It’s not exactly hopping.” Shiro leaned on Keith’s shoulder and peered closer, letting his visor zoom in on key elements. “But at least there’s no sign of Galra, so we should be safe.”

“I think I know why everyone is inside,” Keith said, raising a hand to point at the sky. The bats were back, except these were swooping close enough to reveal that they were more the size of house cats, each one trailing a whip-like tail that caused Shiro to flinch back in recognition.

“We need to go.”

Keith nodded and let his hand clasp with Shiro’s again, making sure his grip was secure, before kicking the bike into gear and heading for the already-closing gates.

The lookouts opened the gates for them without question as the bike neared, and Keith drove through without question. Inside the city the streets were narrow and winding, with flying buttresses and bare rafters crossing from one building to another, dividing the sky into a grid.

“I guess the dragons are a problem here too,” Shiro said, craning his neck back.

The dark wood and stone used for the architecture should have made the streets dark, but paper lanterns and phosphorescent embellishments gave a cheerful orange-yellow glow. Dark-skinned aliens moved around busily, minding their own business as they haggled at open storefronts and strolled in pairs or groups.

“I don’t see any Galra,” Keith muttered, using the helmet’s comm since the bike’s engine was idling too quietly to cover their words. “I thought this place was giving them tribute?”

“Maybe as long as they pay up, the Galra leave them alone. The Empire is taking a beating in this war and can’t manage all their fronts.”

“I’m just hoping no one notices the insignia on our armor.”

Keith cruised down the street as slowly as he dared, having to use his legs to keep the bike upright as he made several hairpin turns. At last the road opened out into a plaza of sorts; the pavement was dotted with sturdy columns reaching several stories high, the top of each sharpened to a point. They were spaced so that it was easy to navigate between them, but still close enough that a dragon’s wingspan couldn’t fit.

“We should probably be thankful we only encountered the one,” Shiro said. “That is definitely something that needs to be added to the database back on the Castle so no one comes here unprepared again.”

“I fully intend to never set foot on this planet again, but suit yourself.” Keith’s attention was drawn to one side of the plaza, where several different species of aliens were lounging on the porch of a tall building. “Inn, maybe?”

There was no sign of purple skin or the Empire’s crest, so Shiro nodded. “We can stay there until we figure out how to get a message through to the Castle. Except... we don’t have any money.”

“I can wash dishes,” Keith said with finality, and pulled the bike up to park at the porch before Shiro could argue.

A couple of the aliens glanced over at the paladins but went back to their own business and none seemed eager to approach. Keith turned off the bike and propped it on the kickstand before slumping back. Hesitantly removing Shiro’s hand from his belt, Keith leaned forward and assessed how badly it would overbalance the bike if he tried to get off. Shiro couldn’t do anything but hold still and hope for the best, when the inn door opened and an alien stepped out, emerald eyes in bright contrast with his black-scaled skin.

“You wish for rooms for the night?” he asked in a lisping voice. “You are from far from here.”

Even without seeing Keith’s face, Shiro could picture the way his eyes must be narrowed, judging from the tightness of his voice. “Is it that apparent?” After all their efforts to not alert the Galra to their presence here, the last thing they needed was for someone to recognize the paladin armor.

The innkeeper nodded toward Shiro. “You have been stung and do not have a remedy with you. That is a common mistake for newcomers.”

“Ah.” Keith relaxed perceptibly, then sat up again fast enough to clip Shiro’s chin with his shoulder. “There’s a remedy? How much do you charge?”

“Not at all,” the alien chuckled. “That would be as if paying for water and bandages. Remedies are very common.” He turned back to the door and made a motion with his hand; a smaller alien darted away inside and came back a moment later with a bit of milky liquid in a cup.

“Things are looking up after all,” Shiro said, making the most of the last few moments with his head on Keith’s shoulder.

“Fingers crossed that this works.” Keith reached out and took the cup from the alien, turning his shoulder to them in a clear sign to back off. Sniffing the liquid, he wrinkled his nose but shrugged. “Willing to risk it?”

“We’ve come this far.” Shiro raised his hand for the medicine but couldn’t rotate his shoulder high enough. He cocked an eyebrow at Keith. “Willing to help me one more time?”

The antidote tasted bitter, coating his tongue and leaving his throat burning. _Still better than the syringe gun_ , he thought, then startled as he registered a feeling of pain, blisters on his heels rubbed raw by days spent in armor. His back was sore, his knees were pressed against Keith’s thighs, his fingers clenched as he raised both hands to his face. A veil had been lifted and the cresting wave of sensation was too much all at once.

“Shiro?” Keith leaned down, peering into his face with worried eyes.

“I’m...um.” With shaking fingers Shiro pried off his helmet; it slipped from his grasp and landed on the ground, but he couldn’t care less as he ran a hand through his hair. The strands were prickly and matted, even through the glove, and he clenched his fist just to feel that tug of pain. He turned wide eyes to Keith and let a huge grin split his face. “It’s good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you back,” Keith replied and bent to retrieve the black helmet, using the action to conceal his own smile. Shiro reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder just because he _could_.

They probably would have stayed there all evening, Keith looking away and blinking rapidly every few seconds, Shiro marveling in the texture and sensation of everything, but the innkeeper cleared his throat.

“I assume you want rooms for the night?”

“Yes,” Keith said. He was distracted by the way Shiro couldn’t keep his hands to himself, first touching the skin tight undersuit along Keith’s biceps, then running his fingertips over the hard rigidity of the shoulder pieces, then finding a stray lock of hair sticking out from under the helmet and smoothing over it again and again. It was endearing, really, and Keith could have stayed there forever if not for the way the bike rocked precariously every time Shiro shifted his weight. The bigger man was doing nothing with his legs to stabilize them and Keith’s own calves were starting to ache from holding them both up.

“I would be very grateful for a bed right now,” Shiro said, still not looking up from the back of Keith’s neck. “The softest you’ve got.”

Keith leaned forward, dragging his hair out of Shiro’s easy reach, and the Black Paladin looked up in mild annoyance. It wasn’t every day that he got to rediscover one of his senses and his body was already sending enough pain stimuli -- he needed something pleasant to hold on to.

“We don’t have any money,” Keith reminded him quietly, but the innkeeper had sharp hearing.

“Medicine is free on this world, but technology? That’s a rare thing to have.” He gestured to the bike. “Give me that and I will give you rooms for many days.”

Keith looked down at the handlebars and Shiro could see the choice running through his head. At last he raised his head. “Is food included?”

“Two meals a day, for five days. More, if you have more to offer.”

“We’ll give you the bike, in its current condition. Fair?”

The innkeeper extended a scaled hand which Keith briefly shook. “Fair.”

Keith swung one leg so he was sidesaddle on the bike, leaning back to brace in case the kickstand failed. “Think you can walk yet?”

Shiro braced his hands on the seat and tested his feet against the ground. “With help, probably.”

Limbs wobbly but functional, Shiro got to his feet with help -- Keith’s arm around his waist, his own around Keith’s shoulders, and a glare from Keith at the innkeeper to back off. Shiro smiled at the last, hiding the expression behind his helmet as Keith brusquely gestured for the alien to lead the way to their rooms. As much as an extra pair of hands would be nice for stability, it was also good only having Keith’s touch on him.

His right leg went suddenly numb again, pins and needles all up and down, and he draped more of his weight over Keith.

“Get some pride and stand on your own two feet,” Keith grumbled, his own stride faltering as he readjusted.

Shiro did his best to stay upright but the corridor was long and intermittently lit with phosphorescents, and his whole body felt like it had been overcooked and left in the sun too long. His legs veered sideways without his permission and he chuckled at Keith’s groan.

“I think I prefer your feet better,” he said, using his right arm to fend off a doorframe that loomed up out of nowhere. His joints popped and it was getting harder to put one foot in front of the other. Breathing hard, he tried to stop but lost his balance and crashed into Keith, who hit the wall with a yelp. “Sorry, sorry.”

Keith rolled his eyes and grumbled about always being the designated driver, but he shouldered Shiro’s weight and pulled the arm around his waist a little tighter. In front of them, the innkeeper had stopped beside an open door and golden light was pouring out into the passageway, welcoming and homey.

“Home sweet home,” Shiro said as they crossed the threshold, and Keith dumped him flat on the bed.


	8. Never Mind It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art link [HERE](http://jingucci.tumblr.com/post/165269091577/for-every-evil-i-feel-so-bad-that-this-is-all-i) !!!

Keith spared the second room only a glance, too anxious to get back to Shiro’s room across the hall. He didn’t think there was any way he could sleep easily without the other paladin in sight -- even with the antidote, Shiro was still worryingly weak and uncoordinated, like a puppet with all its strings cut. Now it was only a question of how much of Keith’s help would he accept, and how much would his pride dictate that he had to do himself.

At least there was no sign of the Galra or any hostility from the natives. That was all Keith could console himself with, should Shiro want space. It was only fair for him to need privacy, after Keith had tended to him every waking moment, but... The solitude didn’t sit well with Keith. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let Shiro out of his sight until they were both safely back on the Castle, healed up and checked over, with a warm meal and a pile of blankets. A pipe dream, maybe, but it was something to look forward to.

The innkeeper had promised to send dinner and had already left. Keith locked the door behind him anyway and glanced at where Shiro was still flat on his back on the bed, swinging his feet over the edge with a disproportionately happy expression.

“You’re going to be like this all night, aren’t you.” Keith sat down beside him, hands tucked under his thighs to take away the temptation to touch. Shiro nodded, still somewhat preoccupied with sensory overload.

There wasn’t much in the room besides the bed and a small table, but the blankets were soft and thick and everything was in good repair. To one side there was a door to a washroom, with a recognizable washtub and hot water.

Keith took off his helmet and gloves, laying them on the table, and made a disgusted face at the layer of grime on his hands. While in the shuttle, it hadn’t seemed that bad -- or at least, not bad enough to warrant wasting their precious small supply of water -- but in this cleaner environment he was suddenly aware of how bad he and Shiro smelled. The same thought had occurred to Shiro, too, as he sat up and started removing pieces of armor as best he could.

“I can get this,” he said, struggling with the breastplate and waving away Keith’s attempts to help. “Could you go run some water?”

At least Shiro was feeling enough like himself to be touchy. Keith left him to his own devices and went to inspect the bathroom, stopping up the tub and turning the hot water on full blast. Clouds of steam fogged the chrome of the faucet, making the room uncomfortably hot and humid, but it was the kind of heat that promised cleanliness and relaxation. Rummaging through the single small cabinet over the sink, Keith found a bottle of shampoo and dumped half of it into the water, satisfied when it formed a thick foamy layer on top.

Turning the water down to a trickle, he poked his head back into the main room. “You doing okay?”

Shiro looked sheepishly up from where he was still seated on the bed, armor half on. He moved his hands away from his belt buckle and shrugged. “Apparently I’ve got feeling back, but no strength. I hate to ask for your help again, but...”

Keith had crossed the room before he could finish the sentence. “I don’t mind at all.” He dropped to his knees at Shiro’s feet and worked off the boots and greaves. “Why do you think I came back in here instead of crashing on my own bed?”

“I dunno, you like my company?”

“Something like that.” Keith stood and offered Shiro his arm, pulling him upright before looping an arm around the older man’s waist for added support. “Also, knowing you, you’d just fall asleep and skip dinner and cleaning up.”

“It worked all through college,” Shiro tried to argue, but his attention was diverted as soon as they entered the bathroom. “A bubble bath? Seriously?”

Keith let Shiro grab ahold of the countertop before stepping back and running a hand along his neck. “I... didn’t know if you’d want help with this too? And I figured there’s more modesty this way...” His face was burning red and he needed out of the stifling air of the bathroom. Words were jumbled in his head and to make it worse, he honestly didn’t know why he’d thought any of this was necessary in the first place. Of course Shiro could handle this on his own; Keith wouldn’t know where to start even if his help _was_ needed. This whole situation was deteriorating rapidly.

“Thanks, but as long as I’m sitting down, I’ll be okay,” Shiro said, and it was hard to tell if his ears were blushing because of the heat or embarrassment.

Keith twisted his fingers together and looked down, shuffling out backwards. “So, um, I’ll be right out here if you need anything.” Grabbing the doorknob, he all but slammed it in Shiro’s face and staggered back a couple of steps to catch himself on the edge of the bed.

Planting his face in his hands, he groaned quietly. After days of being in close quarters, _now_ he managed to screw up? At least he could slink across the hall to his own room and go beat himself up in private now. But as nice as a separate room sounded, it also felt cold and impersonal. He wouldn’t be able to glance over and check on Shiro every time his heart started worrying; he wouldn’t be able to lie awake in the dark before dawn and talk with Shiro, admit that he felt too much. The closeness had felt safe, prompting words to fall from his lips that he never would have found the courage to say otherwise.

But maybe that was for the best. They would be back on the Castle soon enough. There was no room for closeness between them, no more than there ought to be between teammates. Fraternizing among the ranks and all that -- he’d read the manual back at the Garrison. Those rules were in place for a reason.

Keith rolled over and buried his head in the mattress. Even though the signs had been building up over the last few days, it was impossible to tell if it was only his mind showing him what he wanted to see. Shiro had kissed his wrist: gratitude, or an honest kiss with all the feelings that entailed? And all the soft looks Shiro had sent his way, and the kind words: friendliness, or more?

It was a hard choice, and Keith was terrified that no matter which way he played it, he would be wrong and regret it forever. But maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it for those few split seconds that he allowed himself to believe.

\--

Keith had already eaten dinner and set aside Shiro’s portion by the time he heard the water start to drain from the bathtub. Telling himself not to hover, he stayed seated on the bed until there was a sound of annoyance through the door.

“Need a hand?”

“What I need is functional _legs_. But yeah, a hand would help too.”

Rattling the knob so Shiro would have some warning, Keith cracked the door open and leaned in. “What do you want me to do?”

“The tub’s slippery... if you could help me sit on the side, I can dress myself.”

Keith risked a glance farther into the room, where Shiro was sitting with his knees drawn up and the edge of a towel trailing into the tub with him. “The innkeeper gave us some robes. I don’t know if they fit but they’re cleaner than the armor. Lemme go grab one.” He retreated to where the dark purple fabric was thrown on the foot of the bed. It was shimmery and light in his hands, and just opaque enough to be called clothing. Keith gulped, hands suddenly shaking. Maybe he’d been a bit ambitious when he said he was okay with helping Shiro.

He tossed the robe over one shoulder and tapped at the bathroom door again. “You decent?”

“Mostly.” Somehow Shiro had wrapped the towel around his waist and was reaching up to Keith with his left hand. “I promise this will be the last time you have to haul me around.”

Keith swallowed and took his hand, bracing his feet and leaning back a bit. Shiro was heavier this way, with all his weight pulling off to one side, and Keith’s eyes focused on where their hands were clasped, impossible to tell where one started and the other ended. It was easier than looking at the crosshatching of scars that shaded Shiro’s back and shoulders, brought into stark contrast by the gleam of water and subtle shifting of his muscles. Keith fixed his eyes on the ground as Shiro stood up shakily and reached for the robe.

“The innkeeper also brought dinner,” Keith said. The silence needed to be filled and those words, while not the right ones, worked. “Yours is still hot.”

“Food sounds like heaven right about now,” Shiro said, his shape suddenly darker and more imposing in the flowing robe... until Keith let his gaze linger a moment too long. The silky material clung where Shiro’s skin was still wet; the sleeves were short enough to expose his forearms, and Keith didn’t dare glance down to see how long the robe was.

Shiro reached for the doorframe and steadied himself with a hand. On instinct Keith moved to support under his arm, a gesture Shiro accepted without comment, and together they made their way back to the bed with slow, deliberate steps. Shiro sank down gratefully onto the mattress and propped himself up against the headboard, smoothing down the knee-length hem of the robe. His left arm was wrapped around his middle, hand out of sight, and his prosthetic didn’t betray any nervous movement. Nevertheless Keith could see it in the way Shiro kept his head down, attention blatantly focused anywhere but on Keith, and in a way that was soothing. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling the awkwardness.

“Here you go,” Keith said, handing Shiro the tray of food and staying nearby until it was settled in his lap. “If you’re all set, I’m going to go take a shower and sleep for a week.”

He was already almost to the door when Shiro made a noise behind him, a quiet sound like he’d started to say something and thought better of it. Keith paused anyway. It was too easy to let his feet come to a stop, and it would be even easier to turn around and let himself fall into the gravity well of Shiro’s presence.

“We haven’t really... been apart. Not since the dragon got me.” The statement was obvious, but there was a note of longing behind the words. Or was that all in Keith’s head, too?

Slowly Keith looked back over his shoulder. Shiro hadn’t moved and was staring at the food in his lap, but his right hand was wound tight in the blanket.

“Honestly,” Keith started with a strong voice, then paused and continued quieter, “honestly I’d rather keep you in sight now too. Just to be safe.”

“The bed’s plenty big for two.” Once again, the words were light but Shiro’s expression was serious. His eyes tracked Keith as the younger man drifted away from the door and toward the bathroom.

“I’ll shower in here then. And you’d better have eaten all that by the time I get out!”

Shiro scoffed at him but picked up a spoon anyway. “Yes, sir.”

\--

Keith hadn’t meant to take his time, but the hot water felt like a blessing from above as it cascaded down, washing away the grime and memories of the last several days. _No, not all the memories_ , Keith thought and clenched a hand to his chest. Some of the moments were good. Water trailed off his nose in a thin stream and caressed his wrist. Some of the moments, he intended to cherish forever.

By the time he’d toweled his hair dry and messy, and wrapped a robe around himself, he fully expected Shiro to have finished dinner and gone on to sleep. It was something of a surprise to push open the bathroom door with his foot, hands busy with the cord belt, and to see the Black Paladin still awake and upright in the bed.

“Just wanted to be sure you came back,” Shiro said, dissipating Keith’s momentary freeze. “I had to make sure you didn’t drown.”

“Worrywart,” Keith answered, crossing to the far side of the bed and lowering his tired body to the plush mattress. It might not have even been all that soft; he couldn’t tell, but it was far better than the shuttle’s seats. He let himself lie there for a moment, feeling all the tension bleed out of him, and peace washed over him in a warm wave. They’d made it. They were alive. They were safe.

He pushed himself up to hands and knees and wormed his way under the blankets, then looked up just as his head was about to hit the pillow. Shiro was watching him, his expression open, and Keith sat up out of habit. It wasn’t until his hands touched Shiro’s shoulders that he remembered the other man could move now, and he started to withdraw shamefacedly.

“Sorry, I --”

Shiro’s hand met his and drew Keith’s fingers up to his cheek. Grasp loose in case Keith wanted to pull away, Shiro moved their joined hands until Keith was cradling his face and he could turn his head just far enough to graze a kiss along the fluttering pulse of Keith’s wrist. The Red Paladin felt his breath stop as Shiro’s lips lingered, finally ending the kiss with lowered eyes and a growing blush on his cheeks. Shiro nuzzled deeper against Keith’s palm, resting his head there in quiet trust.

Even though Shiro’s gaze was still unsure, flickering up through dark lashes, Keith kept his expression steady. There was no longer any doubt in his mind; he wanted this like he’d never wanted anything before. His chest ached with a new sort of pain, an abyss greedy to be filled, hot claws tugging at his ribs and urging him to moremoremore. Shiro murmured something but Keith didn’t hear it, too lost in the way his hand, his whole body was trembling, and Shiro was _right there_.

So soft and careful, Shiro slid his hand down from cupping Keith’s, to trail his fingertips over the skin still tingling from the kiss. Keith remembered how to breathe and gave a ragged inhale as metal fingers coasted down his arm to his elbow, then up to touch the smooth muscle of his bicep. The moment seemed so fleeting and so sharp all at once, the calm before the storm, every ticking second a lifetime balanced on the edge of a knife. The ache swelled inside Keith until he thought it would consume him. Every atom of his soul longed for this eternity to last forever, because nothing could compare to this intensity.

“Shiro,” he whispered, voice cracked and high. Inexplicably there was dampness on his cheeks and his breath was coming faster, uncontrollable. Keith’s hand fell from Shiro’s jaw to the strong slope of his neck, where his heartbeat was racing just as fast and hard as Keith’s own. The metal hand on his shoulder urged him closer, tugged him into orbit and then farther, into a spiral he couldn’t pull out of.

“May I?” The words were barely there, spoken by two mouths in the same moment.

Keith braced his hand on Shiro and leaned in farther, chasing his own exhale. Lost in the moment, too focused to realize how close they were until warm breath stuttered out against his face. Then Shiro inclined his head, tendons in his neck shifting and quivering under Keith’s palm, and he filled _everything_. Every sense, every emotion, every thought that crashed itself senseless against the inside of Keith’s skull -- everything was Shiro.

Yet somehow, amid that storm in his brain, the moment narrowed down to the single point where their lips met.

Keith’s eyes fluttered shut despite himself. As much as he wanted to drink in every facet of this experience, every emotion flitting across Shiro’s face -- so eager, so wanting, pouring so much of himself into this moment that it was nearly heartbreaking -- it was threatening to drown him. He couldn’t do much more than register that they were kissing, and even as that staggering realization washed over him, Shiro was already drawing away.

With a whimper that he couldn’t stop, Keith chased after him, shuffling his knees closer until he could properly embrace Shiro. His arms wound around scarred shoulders and the other man returned the favor. Shiro tilted his head up as if in apology and let Keith nuzzle closer, his own lips leaving barely-felt kisses across Keith’s cheek until their mouths touched again.

Every time one of them pulled away, the other would breathe and wait. They didn’t need words to convey the thoughts their hearts shared, and Keith knew that as often as he drew back to look into Shiro’s eyes for permission or reciprocation or the warm feeling that filled his own eyes to overflowing, he would find whatever he needed.

Slowly Shiro moved his hand from Keith’s shoulder, lifting it up to trace the sharp angle of his jaw and carding his fingers through thick locks of dark hair. Keith let him; leaned into the touch when Shiro used his left hand to trace the soft line of his parted lips, and took that as a sign to let his thumbs stroke back and forth along Shiro’s skin.

Everything felt slow and tentative and so very careful, as if time was shrouded in amber. No matter how many times Keith whispered Shiro’s name and leaned in to taste him again, no matter how often Shiro blinked away tears and hid his face against Keith’s neck, the emotions stayed the same. There was no need for them to progress to desperation or selfishness, not when they were already giving each other everything. Nothing was held back; the air was cloyed with devotion and unending sweetness.

At last Keith took a shuddering breath and rested his forehead heavily on the other man’s shoulder. “Shiro, I...”

“Hush.” Shiro kissed his ear and trailed a soothing hand down his back. “Let’s stay here a little while.”

Keith nodded mutely. The words would have to be said eventually, he knew. He couldn’t let this thing keep burning in his chest; his feelings had gotten sharper, grown longer claws, and there was no escape or denial now. But if Shiro was willing to let this moment rest without consequences or doubts, then Keith was satisfied with that.

Shiro pulled Keith back to rest in the crook of his arm, a mirror of their positions so many times during the paralysis, and reached for the blanket kicked to the foot of the bed. Taking the opportunity, Keith laid one more kiss on Shiro’s cheek as his head was turned away, and his world brightened when Shiro glanced at him and smiled.

“We need to sleep,” Shiro said, and Keith could have sworn there was an endearment at the end of that sentence but it got swallowed by Shiro’s blush.

“You’re okay with me being here?” Just to make sure. As if there could possibly be any doubt left while the taste of Shiro still tingled across his tongue.

“It’s the only way I’d have it.” Shiro lay down on his back and pulled Keith in closer. “I need to know that you’re really here.”

Keith stifled a yawn and pillowed his head on Shiro’s bicep. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” His hand crept up to rest against the silky fabric above Shiro’s heartbeat and he closed his eyes to that steady rhythm, as dependable as the moon’s orbit and as vital as the sun’s light. It was the most peaceful Keith had ever felt, and the happiest, and for once sleep came easily and with no dreams.

\--

The next day was a flurry of movement. The two paladins trailed from one city office to the next, trying to find someone with access to the broadcasting array mounted on one of the tallest spires. While there would be no way to hide the transmission from the nearby Galra, hopefully it would be encrypted enough for it to be written off as a malfunction. The only question then was whether the Castle would pick it up and Pidge would know to decode it -- if all the pieces fell just right, they could have a rescue here by the end of the day.

But that only put Keith into more of a panic, anxiety swelling in his stomach and killing his appetite for breakfast. It had been a shock that morning -- not unpleasant, but still enough to make a knot form in his throat -- waking up to Shiro nestled right up against him. His prosthetic, warm from body heat, had been draped around Keith’s waist, hand curled into a loose fist in the flowing fabric of Keith’s robe. It had been hard, so hard, not to kiss the angelic smile on Shiro’s lips, the look of lingering peace that smoothed out all the worry lines from his face. Instead Keith had looked down, biting his tongue, and reminded himself forcefully that this might be the first and last time he was allowed to wake up to this.

Now, tagging along after Shiro through the narrow winding streets, it was all he could do not to keep thinking of that. He knew they needed to talk about this and get their relationship sorted out before going back to the team, but it felt like a storm cloud on the horizon. There was simply no way he could go back to treating Shiro as nothing more than a leader and a friend at arm’s length.

At last they were directed to a more promising official, who allowed them to have five dobashes of access to the array. Shiro looked over the cluttered control board but refrained from touching anything, hands clasped firmly behind his back.

“The last thing we need is for the computer to recognize my prisoner number,” he explained.

Keith nodded, mouth drawing into a grim frown, and activated the holographic keyboard. “What should I say?”

“I assume you know Revised Morse?”

“Of course.” His fingers tapped out a straightforward message. “Everyone from the Garrison knows it.”

“Then we can expect a rescue as soon as it’s safe to sneak a Lion past the patrols. The hotel’s been nice, but I can’t wait to get back to my own bed.”

“Y-yeah. Me too.” Keith swallowed and concentrated on the loading bar displayed on the screen. The transmission was sent with no issues and he turned away, glad that that had gone well, to come face to face with Shiro’s concerned expression.

“I think... we have a lot to discuss.” Shiro glanced away, at where the alien official was watching them through the glass partition. “Let’s head back to the inn for now.”

Keith’s mouth was completely dry but he nodded, crossing the room quickly to hold the door open for Shiro. The older man’s strength had mostly returned but Keith didn’t want to take any chances, and anyway he needed to feel useful. He needed to feel _needed_. But no one wanted a clingy teammate, right?

Behind the safety of their room’s door, Keith allowed his shoulders to slump fully. Shiro was facing away from him, turning on the helmet comms so they would hear if the Castle answered their call, and Keith gave himself permission to take one last, long look. Somehow it was harder now that he knew what Shiro’s skin felt like, how strong and alive he felt pressed up against Keith’s side. It wasn’t fair.

“Hey,” Shiro said, reaching up a hand tentatively to Keith’s shoulder.

The younger man tried to brush him off but only became more aware of the silent tears making their way down his cheeks. “Just say what you need to,” he muttered, voice forced, and wiped fiercely at his eyes. “Get this over with.”

Both of Shiro’s hands cupped Keith’s jaw, but he didn’t try to force him to look up. Instead they stood there, together, breathing the same air and simply existing. At last Shiro’s inhale hitched and he leaned forward, enough to touch their foreheads. Keith closed his eyes; the tuft of white hair was so close in front of his face that he could make out every strand, every split end and the slight discolor where Shiro hadn’t been able to wash all the bloodstain away. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull away and end this now, painfully but _over and done_ , or let himself hope for just a moment more.

Shiro was the one to break the silence, brushing his fingers over Keith’s cheek as he spoke. “I care about you. You know that, right? I always have and I always will. But now, it’s...”

Clenching his eyes so tightly that he saw stars, Keith gave a tiny nod. _Just say it already. You care about me, but not in the way I need. You’re strong again, back on your feet. No one truly needs me, you least of all._

“Keith, I think I --” Shiro’s voice was choked and hurried, sounding like he was running on pure adrenaline. “I love you. Last night made me understand it for sure, but even before that, before we came to this planet --”

Keith’s hearing had gone on repeat after those words. _I love you I love you I love you._ Raising wide eyes to Shiro’s face, he watched as the other man struggled his way through the next sentence, watching Shiro’s lowered eyes and worried brows and how he panted for breath between every few words. After so long of telling himself that he’d been imagining things where they didn’t exist, it felt like a sudden dawn breaking across the bleak plains of his thoughts.

He raised a shaking hand to Shiro’s face, cutting off the stuttered words. Finally they made eye contact and saw every hope and fear in the tender gaze mirrored back at each other.

“Shiro,” he said, more strongly and surely than ever, “I love you. And whatever you want to make of that, please, please don’t make me leave you.”

“Never.”

Then they were falling into each other’s arms again, just as soft and gentle as the previous night, but this time with more tears and more fists tightening on clothing. Keith put his head down into the crook of Shiro’s neck and let himself cry at last, shuddering sobs that shook his whole body as waves of relief and emotional exhaustion crashed over him.

“I love you,” he said again, words pressed into damp skin, and felt the arms around him tighten.

Shiro laid his hand on Keith’s back and folded his fingers into the thick fabric of the undersuit, holding on like it would anchor them together. “Keith,” he murmured, lips close enough that Keith could feel his breath on the back of his neck, “I’m so sorry. For everything. For leaving you, and making you worry. I promise --”

Raising his head, Keith looked him in the eyes and shivered. “I don’t need promises. Just...” His eyes darted down to Shiro’s lips and back up. “Please?”

The word was swallowed by the vertigo of the kiss. Keith felt all the air leaving his lungs and instead of drawing away he leaned in farther, craving more. His hands raked the sides of Shiro’s face, one finding a grip in the dark hair at his crown, the other moving in slow circles across his neck. _This_ was what was meant to be. They’d both earned it.

They broke off the kiss only to lean in for another, moments later. Keith kept trying to kiss the corners of Shiro’s mouth, laughing softly as it made the older man smile and nuzzle him back.

“How do you think the others are going to take this?” Shiro asked in an interlude. Keith was still catching his breath, chest full of a giddy feeling. The younger man let his fingers trace the sides of Shiro’s belt, running a fingertip along the armor as he thought of an answer.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I don’t think they’ll mind... not in a bad way, at least.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worried again.” Shiro pressed his hand flat to Keith’s chest and ducked his head for a quick peck. “I was just wondering what the best way is to tell them.”

“They’ll find out eventually anyway,” Keith said, returning the kiss and leaving a bonus one on the pout of Shiro’s lower lip. “Might as well make it on our own terms.”

“I’m glad that’s settled so easily.”

“I think we deserve a lot of easy things in our lives right about now.”

Shiro hummed and settled his lips on Keith’s forehead. “I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted in my life, right here in front of me.”

“Me, too.” Keith curled his body closer in to Shiro’s. “I just wish it hadn’t taken a stupid poison dragon to make me realize that.”

“I dunno. I think I like the habit of you tucking me in every night.”

“Sap.”

“Sweetheart.”

Keith buried his blush in Shiro’s chest.


	9. Epilogue

The Blue Lion breached planet Artax’s atmosphere within a varga after the Castle had received the coded call.

_Stranded on planet. Need pickup. Keith._

That was all there was to the message. No mention of danger, thank goodness, and nothing implying the mission had gone wrong.

“So much for ace pilots,” Lance grumbled, pulling up a screen to scan the planet. “As if I haven’t had my hands full for the last days luring Galra fleets away from the Castle.”

The scanner beeped twice, markers popping up to indicate the positions of the Red and Black Paladins.

“Well at least they’re together. Makes it easier on us, right, Blue?”

The Lion rumbled in response, her controls giving a small surge of power. With two pilots missing, the remaining three had been on almost constant flight duty, running errands for much-needed repairs or creating diversions to distract the local Imperial patrols. The Lions were feeling as run-down as their paladins, cranky and difficult to maneuver at every launch.

But by now the Castle was mostly repaired and ready to move off to a safer part of the galaxy. The only parts still needed were some crystal plants that Coran had said grew here, and which Shiro and Keith had been sent to retrieve _five days_ ago. Honestly Lance was surprised that the distress call hadn’t contained some hint of bad news. That was a long time to be stuck on an alien planet in a crappy shuttle.

“Ugh.” Lance dropped out of the cloud layer and the tropical grassland spread open beneath him. Inside the cockpit, the external temperature gauge’s needle hovered in the red. “Hot and muggy, and not a beach in sight. My absolute favorite.” Leaning back in the control chair, he ran a hand over Blue’s control boards. “Good thing you’ve got climate control, baby.”

A city appeared on the horizon, a dark spot that crystallized into a spiderweb of towers and sky bridges, all glinting sharply in the noon suns. Lance cut his altitude, staying low behind a range of hills, until he’d gotten as close as possible without being spotted. Settling the Lion down into a crouch, he cut her engines and flicked on the comm system.

“This is the Blue Lion calling. Anyone need a ride?” There was a moment of static. “Come on, guys, I’m not a taxi service. Do you wanna get out of here or not?”

“Hey, Lance,” Shiro’s voice came loud and clear through the speakers. “Good to hear from you! Keith and I are in the city; I see you on the map and we can meet you in just a few minutes.”

“Sounds good.” Lance propped his feet on the dash. “Glad I don’t have to trek out in this heat.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh joy, a wild Keith joins the conversation.”

There was the start of angry muttering, overlaid by Shiro’s chuckle. “Just hang tight, Lance. We’ll be there shortly. Then we need to stop by the shuttle to pick up the plants Keith gathered, and we’re good to go.”

“You didn’t even bring the plants with you?” Lance paused. “How did you even end up in the city anyway? It’s miles away from the shuttle!”

“We’ll debrief everyone when we’re back on the Castle. In the meantime, stay in the cockpit. It’s a lot safer than outside.”

Lance made a confused noise but no one bothered to elaborate. Sounded like there was going to be an interesting show-and-tell once everyone was home safely. He watched as the twin dots indicating the paladins slowly moved through the city and made a beeline for where Blue was hidden. In the meantime, Lance radioed the Castle on the secure channel Pidge had encrypted.

“Princess, everything’s going great. I estimate we’ll be done here and back before lunchtime.”

“That’s very good news!” Allura’s picture buzzed and distorted with the static of the Castle’s cloaking field. “I don’t know how much longer we can remain hidden here. Please try to hurry as best you can. Also, give Shiro and Keith my best wishes. I hope everything’s been all right for them these last few days.”

“I’ll tell them something to that extent,” Lance said, shrugging. “I just wish I got a vacation every once in a while too.”

“I doubt they’ve been having fun.” Allura glanced at something to the side, offscreen. “I need to help Coran recalibrate the control consoles. If you need anything else, call Pidge or Hunk; they’re currently off duty.”

“As if they’ll ever forgive me for interrupting their few moments of down time.” Lance cut the comms and looked back to the planetary scanner. The errant paladins ought to be close enough to be seen by now...

Two figures crested the nearest hilltop and Lance reached for the comms again, ready to tell them to step up the pace. But something froze his hand in midair and he stopped, stock-still, as his brain registered what his eyes were seeing. Shiro and Keith were walking side by side, so close their shoulders were almost touching, and more importantly -- they appeared for all the world to be holding hands.

Scratch that.

They _definitely_ were holding hands.

As if sensing Lance’s eyes on them, Keith stopped squarely on the hilltop, in perfect silhouette against the sky. Shiro stopped with him, their hands still joined. Even though it was too far away to see perfect details, Lance swore Keith looked directly at him, despite the reflective coating on Blue’s eyes. Then, then, Keith touched Shiro’s arm and pulled him into a passionate kiss, complete with Shiro’s arm around his waist and Keith leaning back to accommodate Shiro’s height.

A full out Gone-with-the-Wind-style kiss. In plain view. Defiantly in Lance’s line of sight.

Oh boy.

With forced calm he clicked on his helmet comm and routed the call to Hunk. “Hey, buddy?” Lance said in a weak voice. “I... I need to talk to you.”


End file.
